


Tastes Like Forgiveness

by DC_Derringer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, CBT, Domestic Abuse Triggers, Humiliation, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DC_Derringer/pseuds/DC_Derringer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 7 Rewrite. After releasing Leviathan, Castiel is pulled from the reservoir fully human. With only the men he betrayed to rely on, Castiel does anything he can to redeem himself, especially to Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】Tastes Like Forgiveness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4053505) by [Liloo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liloo/pseuds/Liloo)



The Leviathans walked Castiel’s body into the reservoir, seeking the water that was their natural habitat. Dean ached as he watched his friend submerge, saw the explosion of water and black ink that came to the surface. He scanned the water as the ripples stilled and went calm, searching for his friend, trying to brace his heart for what he knew the outcome would be. 

Dean was about to turn away, as his brother and Bobby urged, when the surface of the water broke again, gentler this time, and colored tan, though unmoving. Without a thought, Dean slogged into the water, well above his waist, reaching out to pull Castiel close to him, and dragged him back to shore.

Soaked, bruised, and broken, but whole and still breathing, Castiel was pulled from the water and carried home.

~

Castiel spent several days bedridden, recuperating from the stress he had put on his body, and the revenge it was taking out on him for being so arrogant. Even once he was mobile again, he still ached, with bruises and some broken bones. They would take even longer to heal.

Now that he was human.

Castiel knew it as he breached the surface of the water, despite the pain and confusion that wracked his body. He was cut off. His grace was gone. His power depleted. He was no longer an angel, and he suspected he never would be again.

The hunters took a little longer to realize it. They watched him warily, distrust in their eyes, but it turned to relief as they saw him groaning with pain, covered in bruises that would not fade, and screaming when Dean reset his broken fingers, splinting them as Castiel passed out from the pain.

Looking back, those three days in bed were the best so far.

Once he was able to move around Bobby’s house, he wished he couldn’t. Whenever he entered a room, he felt everyone’s unease, anger, and distrust. It wasn’t hidden. Sam often left the room as soon as Castiel entered, leveling a glare at him so that he would know he was the cause. Bobby often ignored him, talking to Dean like he wasn’t there. Dean afforded him the most attention, but it was curt and rude, more so than Dean’s usual manner, and consisted mostly of commands. Reminders to eat, to take medicine, to shower, to change his clothes. Things he suddenly had to do, all at once, that he could barely grasp.

When Castiel tried to speak, the words died on his lips. He wasn’t sure what to say. An apology seemed worthless compared to all he had done. Begging for forgiveness seemed selfish. But he didn’t know what to do. They had brought him home, put him back together, but he didn’t know why.

It wasn’t until a week had passed, aching with pain and silence, that Castiel found the most suitable words to say.

“I want to help,” he said to Dean, his voice weak and raspy from disuse.

Dean glared at him. He looked offended that Castiel had even dared to speak, and Castiel was already regretting his words, shrinking back, ready to retreat to the bedroom they’d put him in, so he could hide from the accusing eyes.

“There’s dirty dishes in the sink,” Dean said dismissively, and then he turned away, going into Bobby’s library, where they had been researching the monsters Castiel had unleashed into the world.

Castiel stood there, frozen, his mouth open to word a protest before Dean had turned away. It wasn’t what he meant. He wanted to help them research. Fight. Save the world. Do good. Washing dishes was an insult.

He felt anger curling inside him, the strongest emotion he’d felt besides misery since he’d entered the house. Left as a weak, powerless, broken human, he had no purpose anymore, no use for Dean. 

Offended, Castiel’s fists clenched without him realizing it, and it took him a moment of effort to uncurl them. He took a deep, cooling breath, darted an angry glance at the door of the library, and then went back upstairs, to stay in his room until his body grew hungry again, signaling that it was time to eat the evening meal.

Dean would call Castiel for dinner, but then Castiel would wait twenty minutes or so before creeping downstairs to see if the kitchen was empty. If the clatter of plates and brusque talk was gone, he would take what food was left, eat it quickly, and retreat back to his room, so as not to bother anyone, or be bothered by their looks. No one seemed to mind. No one urged him to eat with them, and he was not surprised. On one or two occasions, when he had come down too early, he had back-peddled furiously out of Bobby’s kitchen as three angry eyes turned to him, a cold silence filling the room.

But that night, Dean came upstairs an hour earlier than usual. His boots stomped loudly up the steps and he shoved the door open. His eyes were hot and fiery as he glared at Castiel. Castiel sat, frozen on his bed, startled by the unexpected intrusion and the wild look in Dean’s eyes.

“New rule,” Dean growled, glaring at Castiel. “I give you an order, you do it.”

It took Castiel a moment, but he realized Dean meant the dishes. The ones he had not washed when he had asked to help. His wide-eyed surprise turned to annoyance and he narrowed his own eyes at Dean, glaring back at him.

“I’m not a… a maid,” Castiel said, his anger making him stutter. “I want to help you hunt. I want to fight.”

“You want to fight? You?” Dean barked out a laugh, and it was cruel. It made Castiel even angrier, but he didn’t have a moment more to think about it, to spit back more angry words, because Dean was on him already, having moved faster than Castiel could see, now that his senses were dulled and slow.

Dean hauled Castiel up by his arm and then twisted it hard behind his back, pinning him. Castiel let out a squawk of surprise, and then pain, as Dean twisted his arm further. Unbidden, tears sprung from his eyes, and he was left gasping, the pain leaving him breathless. His other arm flailed uselessly against Dean. He couldn’t concentrate hard enough to even form a fist.

“There was a time,” Dean said, giving Castiel another jerk, wrenching out another shriek of pain. “When if I hit you, I could break my whole hand. Now, you pass out if I set your fingers.”

Dean released him suddenly, and Castiel dropped boneless to the floor. Achingly, he pulled his arm to his front and cradled it, his whole body trembling. His face was hot with tears, red with embarrassment.

“You’re not a hunter. You’re not a fighter. Not like this. All you’re good for now is cleaning up after us. You want to help? You want to be useful? Then you fucking do what I say. Clear?”

“Yes,” Castiel said quickly.

“Good. After dinner, do the fucking dishes.”

“Yes,” Castiel said again, nodding pitifully as Dean stormed out of the room and went back downstairs.

An hour and a half later, Castiel crept downstairs silently. He ate the last of the meal Bobby had prepared, and then set about washing all of the dishes, from their previous meals, this meal, and all the pots and pans that were required in its making. He carefully scrubbed and rescrubbed each dish, making certain they were clean, and neatly stacked them on the drying rack, making as little noise as possible. As an afterthought, he also cleaned the counter and the table they’d eaten on. Hoping Dean would be pleased with his work, Castiel crept back up to his room for the night.

~

Dean was not pleased with his work, but he was not displeased, either. He said nothing about it whatsoever to Castiel. The next morning went as it usually did, with the slight change that as the breakfast dishes collected in the sink, Dean gave Castiel a meaningful look.

So this was his new task in life. Keep the kitchen sink free of dirty dishes, silverware, and glasses. It was tedious, and he was starting to understand why the dishes piled up so quickly, with four grown men eating three times a day, and no one wanting to clean them. But, this was the new rule. Follow Dean’s orders. So he did.

That lasted for two days, and then he got a new order; Follow Bobby’s orders.

Castiel had finished cleaning the dishes, and tidying up the kitchen. He went to throw away an empty milk carton, but the garbage under the sink was full, already so packed down tight with other trash that he couldn’t get the carton in without it falling out again. For awhile, he just stared at it, unsure what to do.

“The trash ain’t gonna take itself out,” Bobby growled, looking at Castiel like he was an idiot. Castiel just looked back at him, feeling like an idiot anyway.

“You take the bag, tie up the top, and carry it to the garbage cans on the side of the house,” Bobby said, rolling his eyes and letting out an exasperated sigh.

Castiel was about to tell Bobby to take out his own trash, his anger and frustration flaring up again, when he caught Dean’s eye.

“Do what he says,” Dean ordered, and the anger flooded out of Castiel in an instance, leaving him cool and submissive. He tied up the bag, and carried the trash outside to find the cans.

~

The third order Castiel had to follow, was one he gave himself, though he was sure that if Dean had thought of it, he would have ordered it, too. 

It had been two weeks since the Leviathans had left Castiel’s body. Two weeks in Bobby’s house under the severe oppression of three angry and betrayed hunters. With Dean, he had an understanding, and though it was not the friendship they once had, and likely never would be again, Castiel could at least exchange words with him civilly.

With Bobby, he had never been close. They had fought together, but he hadn’t spent much time with the hunter before to develop the bond that he had with the Winchesters. Perhaps that was for the best. Bobby treated him warily, but he did not look as hurt and betrayed. He tolerated Castiel being in the same room with him, and when he grew tired of him, told him to go do something useful. It was usually some sort of degrading manual labor, but, Castiel had his orders to follow.

But Sam was another matter entirely. Sam had admired him, and looked up to him and treated him with more respect than Dean ever had. And Castiel had repaid him by breaking down the delicate wall in his head that kept the insanity at bay. Now, he was plagued by his memories in Hell, and hallucinations of the devil tempting and tormenting him. Perhaps worst of all, Castiel hadn’t done it to hurt Sam, but to hurt Dean, to stir that protective obsession he had for his brother, to distract him. It was a double betrayal to Sam.

Sam would not speak to Castiel. Wouldn’t look at him. He would leave the room when Castiel came in, or ignore him so ferociously, that Castiel would get uncomfortable and leave, feeling relief fill the room as he left.

After his progress and understanding with Dean and Bobby, Castiel felt confident enough to approach Sam, alone, in the library where he was pouring over books. Bobby was working the phones, and Dean was putting the Impala back together again, after it had been smashed up during the last battle.

He approached Sam in the library, and could feel the hunter tense, but he said no word, and did not acknowledge Castiel’s presence in anyway.

“Sam, can we talk?” Castiel asked, and he saw Sam flinch, but the man just ignored him, and violently flipped a page in his book.

“Please, Sam, I just want to-“

“No,” Sam growled, cutting Castiel off sharply, and Castiel jumped at the sound of anger in Sam’s voice.

“But if you just let me-“

“No!” Sam growled again, louder, and this time he looked up at Castiel, and Castiel shrunk back at the hatred he saw in Sam’s eyes. He’d expected hurt, and anger, and betrayal, but not hatred. And he realized why Sam had never so much as glanced at him in the entire two weeks he had been there.

Now Castiel understood the story the brothers had told him of the Mystery Spot, and the game Gabriel had played with them, still in his guise as the trickster. He’d always had a hard time imagining gentle, caring, understanding Sam on a long and bloody vendetta to avenge his brother’s death. He’d never understood how Sam could have killed a man that looked like Bobby, believing with his whole heart that it was the trickster.

Eventually though, Gabriel had given Dean back. And he had allied with them, if only briefly, against Lucifer. He had sacrificed himself in order to protect the brothers, to let them go on and fight the fight, and win. Though Sam did not speak glowingly of Gabriel, that last act seemed to earn his forgiveness for the hundreds of colorful murders he forced Sam to witness.

Until Castiel could do so much for Sam, to make up for his crimes, he knew that hatred would not fade. Not on its own. Not while he was around, constantly reminding Sam of the cause of his torment. So, Castiel left the library quietly, and formed the new rule for himself. He would not try to speak to Sam again until he had something to offer him in amends.

~

The third week after the Leviathans had dumped Castiel’s body in the lake, Dean came into his room and dropped a brand new duffel bag on Castiel’s bed. Castiel gave it a cursory glance and then tilted his head up to Dean, curious.

“Pack what little shit you have, and get it in the car. We’re leaving in an hour.”

“Where are we going?”

“Hunting. Leviathan research is a dead end, so we might as well make ourselves useful. We got a job lined up in Missouri.”

“Why are you taking me with you?” Castiel asked, and there was hope in his voice.

“Because Bobby doesn’t want you here,” Dean said, and he walked out of the room.

The hope floundered in Castiel’s chest, and he tucked it down deeper, to protect it. Promising himself he would be more careful not to let it flutter loose so easily again.

The car ride was agonizing. Neither man felt inclined to talk to Castiel, and Sam wouldn’t talk in front of him, even if it was just to Dean. The tension was tight and hot in the car, and no matter how many heavy metal cassettes Dean played, none of them filled the anxious void.

After a 10 hour drive, the men pulled off the highway to rest for the night in a motel. To Castiel and even Dean’s surprise, Sam went up to the lobby desk and quickly asked for two rooms, before Dean could say anything. Once outside the lobby, Sam led the way to the rooms, and Castiel barely overheard their whispered argument.

“We can’t afford two rooms every night,” Dean said, calmly. “We can just put him on the floor.”

“I’m not sharing a room with him, Dean. I don’t even want to be in the same car with him.”

“We can’t leave him at Bobby’s. What are we supposed to do with him?”

“Drop him off at an animal shelter. He’s useless to us, Dean. You said so yourself.”

Castiel wanted to be shocked that Dean had said those words to Sam, but he wasn’t. He already knew what Dean thought of him, and he was aware of his own lack of prowess as well, sometimes achingly so. 

Sam disappeared into one room, giving Dean a final disapproving glare, and then Dean and Castiel went on to the next room and settled in for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

“Suits, dress shirts and ties need to go to the drycleaners. Everything else gets washed. Whites get washed warm, colors get washed cold,” Dean explained as patiently as he could to Castiel.

They were in a Laundromat with a duffel bag full of dirty clothes. They’d finished the hunt in Missouri with little trouble, and were readying themselves for their next hunt, in New Hampshire. Castiel’s task was to wash the clothes while Dean dropped his and Sam’s suits off at the dry cleaners.

“Do you think you can manage that?” Dean asked, looking doubtfully at Castiel.

Castiel nodded, even though he was leery. All this human stuff was so complicated and foreign to him, but he did not want to earn another scowl from Dean. He did not want Dean to decide he was useless and send him away. So even if he had no clue, he had to pretend he did and muddle through, hoping for good results.

Once Dean left, Castiel set about his task. He read and reread the directions on the washing machines, and the advice given on the bottle of laundry detergent. Finally quite certain of what to do, he opened the duffel bag and started sorting the clothes into two different machines, whites into ones, everything else into the other. He poured in the prescribed amount of detergent, selected the wash cycle, and started the wash. When the machines hummed to life, and nothing exploded, Castiel sighed with relief and sat in a rickety plastic chair.

~

Dean had told Castiel to return to the motel when he was finished with the laundry and wait for him there. Castiel was hoping desperately that Dean would not be back when he returned. He just needed a little more time to think.

But when he got back to the motel, he could see the Impala parked outside their door, and his heart leaped up into his throat, the start of panic rushing through his veins. He debated turning back, but quickly dismissed it, because he had nowhere else to go. He had to learn to be brave in his frail, human body, or else Dean would never have faith in him again. So he adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder, filled with their clean laundry, and entered the motel room.

“About time,” Dean said. He was sitting on the foot of the bed, looking bored, with the remote control for the TV in his hand. He shut it off and leveled his eyes on Castiel, and then narrowed them suspiciously. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

Castiel gulped, angry at himself for his guilt-ridden features. He needed to learn to hide his emotions better. Though in this situation, it wouldn’t matter anyway. He sighed and put the duffel bag down on the bed, opened it, and then stood back, waiting for Dean’s reaction.

Dean peered into the bag, and his face was instantly marred with a deep set scowl. He reached into the bag, past the beautifully, meticulously, wrinkle free folded flannel shirts and jeans, and pulled out one of his favorite white band t-shirts. One he didn’t even wear on hunts because he didn’t want it covered in grave dirt or blood. Now, it was a light, but very distinct, pink.

Dean glared at the shirt some more, his lips a firm, tight line across his face, and then he shoved it back into the bag.

“You really are useless, aren’t you?” he said, not even bothering to look at Castiel.

“I’m sorry… some red boxers got in… I didn’t know…” Castiel said, feeling the panic swelling further in his chest when Dean said the word ‘useless.’

“You don’t know anything. I have to teach you everything. You’re like a child.”

Castiel could feel himself nodding in agreement. Honestly, he would agree with anything Dean said to make him happy, but he also really did agree. He felt like a child, even though he was millions of years old, and knew so much. But nothing useful. Nothing that Dean needed.

“Maybe it was a mistake bringing you along,” Dean said quietly, mostly to himself.

Castiel’s panic swelled again, up into his throat. He felt like he was going to choke on it, like it was blocking out all of his air. He had to do something to quell it, to assuage the fear that brought it on.

“Please don’t send me away. I won’t make the mistake again. I’ll learn. I’ll be more careful. I promise,” Castiel babbled, his words a rush from his mouth he couldn’t control as he looked longingly at Dean, begging for a second chance.

“I’m not going to send you away,” Dean said quietly, and the panic receded a little. “Who would take you anyway?” he added, and the insult stung a little, but not much. Castiel nodded again in agreement. Who would take him, indeed? Bobby had made it clear he wasn’t wanted, and Castiel knew few other people. Being on his own was a thought he didn’t even want to consider. He would likely get himself killed in some mortifyingly incompetent fashion that most humans had learned to avoid when they were small children.

“What am I supposed to do with this stuff?” Dean asked, gesturing to the pink clothes in the duffel bag, an assortment of socks, underwear and t-shirts.

“I will replace them. I can go to the store and buy more,” Castiel offered. 

“With my money. Some punishment that would be,” Dean snorted.

“Punishment,” Castiel murmured, thoughtfully. Most of what Dean asked him to do seemed like punishment, designed to humble and humiliate him. Why not take it one step further and make the act concrete? Perhaps it would help him relearn his place after he had so grossly overstepped his bounds.

“Perhaps you should punish me,” Castiel offered, a little hesitant. Would it really be punishment if he was asking for it? Or was it just another burden to put on Dean, trying to force him to forgive.

“You want me to punish you?” Dean asked with a perplexed look on his face, almost a smile tugging at his lips, amused. Castiel didn’t quite understand it, and while he longed to see Dean smile again, he felt unsure of this odd twist in his lips.

“It was common in Heaven if an angel failed in their mission.”

“And how do they punish angels in Heaven?” Dean asked, his smile becoming curious.

Castiel swallowed, and hesitated. Naturally, there was really only one sort of punishment an adult could receive for correction. He was not a child to be put in a corner and denied his dessert, no matter how much he felt like one. So he had nothing left to do but tell Dean the sort of punishment he expected. He had promised himself not to hold back from Dean ever again. To answer any question asked, and only with the fullest truth.

“Pain,” he finally answered softly.

Dean’s mouth went flat and straight from Castiel’s response, his eyes totally unreadable as he contemplated Castiel’s words. “Does it work?” he finally asked.

“When I learned of Zachariah’s plan to start the apocalypse, and tried to warn you, I was taken to Heaven for re-education,” Castiel said, slowly, remembering what he had been subjected to while Sam and Dean protected his abandoned vessel. “You remember the results.”

Dean nodded and kept his eyes on Castiel, considering him. His expression was smooth and thoughtful, and Castiel couldn’t read his emotions. He wondered if Dean was considering hurting him, using pain to correct his mistakes. And as he thought that, he felt relief washing through him. If Dean would punish him, it meant he cared enough to keep him around.

“Go lie on the bed,” Dean said, and the words startled Castiel with their suddenness, and the meaning of them that he couldn’t understand. But he didn’t need to understand. He just needed to obey, so he did, and climbed onto the bed, lying down on his back.

“No. On your stomach,” Dean said, and Castiel obeyed again, turning over. He looked up at Dean, who was standing up over him, next to the bed, considering him again. Castiel shifted anxiously, and wondered what would happen next. 

Dean sat down on the bed, next to Castiel’s hip, making the bed dip to the side. Castiel had to brace himself so he wouldn’t slide into the dip, into Dean’s body.

“Loosen your pants,” Dean said, another order, but one that made Castiel pause, wondering, looking up at Dean with questioning eyes. Dean glared at him, and barked the order again, impatient. Castiel obeyed quickly, reached under his hips, and undid the belt, the top button, and lowered the fly on his jeans. He waited for further instruction.

None came, but Dean touched him then, and Castiel almost jumped out of his skin as Dean laid a hand on the small of his back. Dean rarely touched him, and the last time had been to twist his arm almost out of its socket to teach him a lesson. 

Castiel gasped when the next touch was Dean’s other hand, slipping into the back of his pants, his fingers grazing his skin as they slid into his boxers as well, and then tugged the fabric down, the jeans and underwear together, in a rough, fast pull, leaving Castiel’s ass exposed to the air.

“What-?” Castiel started, confused, pushing himself up on his elbows to question Dean’s strange actions.

“Down,” Dean said, and pushed hard on Castiel’s back. His words, more than his hands, forced Castiel down, and he lay there, confused and anxious, as he felt the warmth of embarrassment spreading up his cheeks.

“You really are like a child, Cas. You’re weak, you’re new, your emotions are bare and raw, and you crave so much attention. Half of my day is spent worrying about you in one way or another. So this should be a fitting punishment.”

Castiel was about to ask what Dean had in mind, but he soon didn’t need to as Dean raised his hand and brought it down with a loud, resounding slap onto Castiel’s exposed ass.

Castiel cried out in shock and surprise at the touch, and the pain, as it blossomed and spread throughout his backside. Instinctively he pushed up on his elbows, seeking escape, but Dean’s hand on his back held him in place.

“Stay still,” Dean said, and his voice held a warning that made Castiel go still instantly, freezing in anticipation and fear. He didn’t need to wait long, as Dean’s hand fell again, striking him just as hard. Another cry burst from Castiel’s lips, before he bit it back, taking his bottom lip hard between his teeth, and bracing himself for the next blow.

Dean’s hand fell again and again over his upturned cheeks, alternating between the two of them until Castiel felt that his entire back side was a hot, burning mess. Each smack left him wanting to cry out, thrash and buck against the pain. But he bit his lip hard, tasting copper on his tongue, and held himself still, as Dean had commanded.

After 20 strikes (Castiel couldn’t help but count) Dean’s hand came to a rest on Castiel’s cheeks, rubbing them lightly, a striking contrast to the harshness of only moments ago. Castiel whimpered, the pain still throbbing through his cheeks even after the spanking had stopped.

“I didn’t even hit you that hard,” Dean said, his voice a reprimand. Castiel didn’t notice Dean had been looking at him, but he realized it as Dean reached toward his face and wiped at his cheeks. His fingers came away wet, and Castiel was surprised. He hadn’t realized he was crying. 

“Go wash your face,” Dean said, moving away from the bed. “We’re heading out in 30 minutes.”

Castiel nodded, and shakily sat up from the bed. He hissed with pain as he put weight on his butt, and stood up quickly, tugging his pants gingerly over his sore skin. The fabric of his boxers, well-worn cotton, felt like sandpaper, and with each step to the bathroom, he winced. 

But more than the pain, the humiliation is what made him ache and regret his mistake. To be bared like a child, held down under Dean’s greater strength, and then reduced to uncontrollable noises and tears. It really was a fitting punishment. One he would do his utmost to avoid again in the future.

~

In the week that followed Castiel’s punishment, his every action was ruled, controlled, and careful. Every word from Dean’s mouth was followed to the letter, with care. His guns were cleaned until they shone. The knives were sharp enough to split a hair. The Impala was kept tidy, inside and out. And when he was entrusted with the laundry again, a look of warning in Dean’s eyes, Castiel was very, very certain that every scrap of cloth was in the appropriate pile, especially anything red.

Relief flooded through him, and it felt so good, it was almost like happiness. If he didn’t think about it, he was almost certain it was. Dean still didn’t smile when he did his job well, nor praise him. But it was enough not to earn his ire. It proved he was competent and useful. 

Which is why when he made his second mistake, he had that much further to fall than before.

Dean was with Sam, canvassing the town they were in, disguised as FBI agents to find out information on the latest rash of mysterious deaths. Castiel’s offer to help interview had been brushed off without a thought. But he had been given the task of getting dinner before the two hunters returned. 

Castiel knew they would return to the motel at 7 o’clock, so he endeavored to get the food as close to that time as possible, so that it would still be warm. He had scouted the town earlier in the day and found a diner that offered take-away food that he knew Sam and Dean preferred. For Sam, he ordered a green salad with grilled chicken and dressing on the side. For Dean, the bacon burger with cheese was the obvious choice, plus fries, and extra ketchup in small plastic cups. Both men drank Coke like water. 

Sam and Dean returned shortly after 7, and Castiel was pleased with his timing. He smiled at Sam as the man inspected his salad, but did not get one in return. Dean pulled out his burger and fries, and looked pleased, but then went searching in the bag again. His face fell with disappointment.

“Dude, where’s the pie?”

“Pie?” Castiel parroted, and then panic swelled up inside him. Pie! How could he forget pie? Dean loved pie, and always, always berated Sam for forgetting pie, even when he hadn’t asked for it. “I… I didn’t know you wanted pie.”

“I always want pie. Don’t I always want pie, Sammy?” Dean turned to his brother for confirmation. Sam just nodded a little, as usual, taciturn in Castiel’s presence, as though even speaking in front of him would be considered a sign of favor.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get pie next time,” Castiel said quickly. “I won’t forget.”

“Yeah. Don’t make that mistake again,” Dean said, and the word ‘mistake’ made a shiver go down Castiel’s spine. He was relieved that Sam was in the room, because soon both men were engrossed in their dinner and discussing the hunt, Castiel completely forgotten. 

It wasn’t until well after 11 pm that both hunters started to yawn and droop in their stations. The interviews had been less than helpful, and they were waiting to hear back from Bobby about some books they didn’t have. Soon, Sam resigned himself to his weariness, and retreated back to his motel room for sleep. 

Castiel, too, was starting to feel sleepy, so he started getting ready for bed, reaching in his duffel bag to change his clothes for the night.

“Before you pass out,” Dean said idly, not quite looking at Castiel, as he was leafing through the notes and research he had on the table. “Lie face down on the bed.”

Castiel jerked up, ramrod straight at Dean’s command, and looked warily at the bed, where just one week ago, he’d been laid out and punished under Dean’s callused and heavy hand. He should have known Dean would be angry about the pie. Sam had stalled Dean from exacting his punishment, but hadn’t cancelled it.

“I didn’t know you wanted pie,” Castiel said, after hesitating for a moment about arguing his case. There was a chance it would only make Dean angrier, to hear his protests, but there was a chance he could win him over with reason and spare himself the humiliation of an ass beaten cherry red.

“I didn’t have to tell you I wanted a bacon burger. You remembered that well enough on your own. But you forgot the pie. You know I always want pie.”

“I’ll remember next time. I promise.”

“I know you will, because I’m going to smack the memory of it into your backside. Now get on the bed.”

Castiel could do nothing but nod. He approached the bed, loosening his belt and pants as he went, and tugged them down slightly, past the curve of his ass, before lying face-down on the bed, waiting for Dean to approach and dole out his punishment.

Dean sat down on the bed next to Castiel, making it dip again. Castiel turned his head away from Dean this time, staring at the wall as Dean reached for his pants, tugging them down a little further, adjusting them how he liked. 

“I want you to count,” Dean said as he laid one hand on the small of Castiel’s back, and the other smoothed over the cheeks of his ass.

“Count?” Castiel questioned, confused by the request.

“Count how many times I smack your ass. If you lose count, I’ll start again. Understand?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, trying not to sound pitiful, and biting back the protests against his unfair punishment.

Castiel felt Dean raise his hand from his skin, felt the air thicken with anticipation, the fear knotting in his chest, and then Dean’s hand fell, heavy in the center of his ass, striking both cheeks at once and sending a loud clap of flesh against flesh ringing through the room.

“One!” Castiel choked out quickly, once he recovered from the shock of the blow. He barely got it out though, before Dean’s hand fell again, just as hard, focusing on his right cheek, and making Castiel shift to the left on instinct before choking out “Two!”

Dean’s hand was slow and hard and steady for the first few smacks, but as Castiel rounded six and seven, the blows started coming faster, stinging heat into his flesh, forcing him to gasp out the numbers, stumbling on them in his haste not to fall behind.

As Castiel cried out twelve and thirteen, he felt like his skin was on fire, and each smack of Dean’s hand was an explosion against his backside. Even with the hunter’s hand firmly on his back, holding him down against his instinctive jerks, Castiel still writhed on the bed, his body seeking escape he couldn’t control.

On seventeen and eighteen, Castiel felt hope filling him. Dean had stopped at twenty last time. He felt numb, though the pain sparked back to life at the instant of contact, and he knew from last week, that once the spanking stopped, the burn would continue, unrelenting, and make it difficult to sit in the Impala for hours on end without Sam noticing the way he squirmed. 

Twenty was a broken sob, and for an instant, fear twisted in his gut that it wouldn’t end, but then those seconds between smacks stretched out longer and longer, and Castiel let out a shaky breath of relief as Dean’s hand lifted from his back.

“You going to forget the pie again?”

“Never!” Castiel promised, knowing he would hunt all over every town they visited to find Dean pie. He would buy Dean every pie in creation to keep him happy, to correct this mistake. 

“Good. Then get off my bed,” Dean said gruffly, giving Castiel a small shove.

Still a little shaky, and careful this time of sitting up, Castiel pushed himself onto his arms, and slid off the bed. He avoided putting weight on his butt, and stood quickly, clutching his pants and pulling them up carefully, hissing quietly as they slid over his cheeks. He walked gingerly to the bathroom, still holding his pants up, adjusting them slowly, so that Dean wouldn’t see.

He’d felt the burn of Dean’s smacks, felt the heat envelop him, consume him, override him with pain and shame. But what he hadn’t expected to feel, was his senses going crazy, flipping in the extremity of the situation, and leaving the heat to funnel through to his groin, and consume him in an unexpected fashion.

Castiel palmed the hard cock in his shorts once he got into the bathroom and closed the door, confused and embarrassed by his reaction. He wanted to tell himself it was just the friction of rubbing against the bed, that his body had natural urges he had ignored and allowed to build up. But he wasn’t so certain.

How could he have become so aroused while he was experiencing so much pain? He found his body confusing and contrary on the best of days, never quite doing what he wanted it to do, but this was stranger than most. All he could do was hope it was some strange fluke, perhaps remedied by a few extra minutes in the shower each day to stave off the pressure.

~

A problem arose when they arrived in a tiny town for a hunt. There was only one motel, and only one room available. Sam fumed, and there was a suggestion of someone sleeping in the Impala, but Castiel was glad when Dean stood his ground and ushered all three of them into the room, despite the tense and awkward silence. 

Dean dropped his stuff on one of the two beds and then went back outside.

Castiel glanced at Sam for a moment, only to see that Sam was pointedly ignoring him as he unpacked his duffel bag. It was the first time they’d been alone in weeks, since Castiel had tried speaking to Sam in Bobby’s library.

He felt words in his throat, but quickly reminded himself of his own rule not to speak to Sam until he could make amends, and also started fiddling with his duffel bag.

Dean returned a few minutes later with a rolled up sleeping bag and shoved it into Castiel’s arms. It smelled moldy and forgotten, and he wondered where it had come from, since he had never seen it before. He didn’t want to think about where Dean usually shoved it in the Impala to leave it smelling so bad. Still, he unrolled it on the floor, struggled with the zipper to get it open, and then left it there, hoping it would air out before he had to crawl inside.

Sam went to bed early, surely a subtle sign of his disapproval with the sleeping arrangements. Dean stayed up awhile longer, surfing websites and slowly nursing a beer. Castiel lay stretched out on his stomach, reading a book, on top of the sleeping bag.

“You look good there,” Dean said, glancing over at Castiel.

Castiel looked up at Dean from his book, confusion marring his features. “What do you mean?”

“You look good, on the floor, at the foot of my bed,” Dean said more clearly. “It suits you.”

Castiel felt the old anger rising up inside him that he hadn’t felt for some weeks. Dean comparing him to a dog, sleeping humbly at his master’s feet, seemed appropriate. He only wished he was a dog. Those beasts seemed to please their masters so easily, while Castiel could not.

“Maybe I ought to make you sleep there, even when Sam has his own room.”

Castiel lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the anger and frustration Dean’s words were invoking. He knew that Dean was trying to provoke him, to get some sort of angered response, to see how far he could push.

“Or do you think you deserve to sleep on a bed?” Dean asked, and from the weighted silence, Castiel knew Dean actually wanted an answer, but he had to choose his words carefully.

“I don’t think I deserve anything,” Castiel said, finally looking up at Dean again. He hoped Dean would understand the double meaning of his words, the rebellious nature of them, but also feared he would, and that some punishment would be meted out for his daring. 

“Good. Tomorrow, take your sleeping bag to the Laundromat. It’s stinking up the whole room.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I really don’t think I should be here,” Castiel said, shifting from one foot to the other on top of a barren rooftop in the blazing afternoon sun. He’d learned that his white skin burned easily, leaving him with embarrassingly red skin that ached even when he didn’t touch it. That concern was only a niggling distraction though compared to his present predicament.

“Stop thinking so loud. You’re making too much background noise,” Bobby said in the voice Castiel had become so familiar with, grouchy, crotchety, and mean. Bobby readjusted the equipment he was working with, angling the large hearing dish better toward the window where Dick Roman was meeting with the doctor from Sioux Falls General Hospital. 

Castiel paced behind Bobby, holding the sawed off shotgun Dean had thrust into his hands, telling him gruffly not to shoot himself in the foot with it. Castiel wanted to think he wasn’t that inept, but wouldn’t put it past himself. He handled the gun very carefully.

“I don’t know why you brought me,” Castiel continued, ignoring Bobby’s earlier warning about background noise. “Dean never brings me on hunts. I am not very useful.”

“All you gotta do is watch my back,” Bobby said absently, his eyes glued to the window. “Yell if you see anyone. Or shoot them.”

Castiel eyed the shotgun in his hands. He was aware of the concept. He had even used one successfully before, shooting a human infected with the croatoan virus before it managed to bite Sam. But he had not used one since then, and doubted he’d be so lucky a second time. Nonetheless, he kept his eyes darting around the rooftop, hoping nothing would come along.

“You know,” Bobby said, turning away momentarily so he didn’t have to watch the results of a Leviathan being ‘bibbed.’ “Just because you lost all your mighty angel powers, don’t mean you’re totally useless. Us puny humans get by pretty OK.”

“You have many years of practice.”

“Then get some damn practice. Don’t go moping about what you don’t have, and think about what you do. You got a young, healthy body there. Train it to be better.”

“How?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Bobby said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe ask those two idjits that defeated the devil? They may know a thing or two.”

“You mean the two ‘idjits’ that hate me and barely talk to me?” Castiel asked, throwing back a little sarcasm of his own. Having spent more time with Bobby, he was starting to like him. Though maybe that was because Bobby wasn’t any meaner to him than he was to Sam or Dean.

“Now you listen here-“ Bobby said, turning away from the window again to give Castiel a piece of his mind, but then his eyes went wide and he shouted. “Look out!”

Castiel spun around, the shotgun in hand, and let off a wild shot, right into the face of a leviathan, blowing most of its head off. The other one beside it yelled, and then had its head shot open by Bobby. Within seconds though, both monsters were already healing.

“Run!” Bobby shouted, and Castiel was never happier to obey an order, nor faster.

While the leviathans healed, Castiel and Bobby ran as fast as they could to the fire escape, tumbling down the stairs almost head over feet, and dashing back to the safety of the van where Dean and Sam where waiting for them.

As soon as Bobby and Castiel were safely in the van, Dean drove off, as the two leviathans, plus a few more, pounded out to the parking lot, giving chase. Dean peeled out of the lot, and didn’t slow down until they were halfway back to their safe house.

“Did you find out anything?” Dean asked once all their adrenaline had stopped pumping quite so furiously.

“No. Didn’t have enough time. Saw some interesting looking papers on Dick’s desk, but couldn’t make ‘em out through my scope.”

“Damnit.”

“You know, you oughta train Cas with that gun. He hit a leviathan by chance, but you can’t count on that. He could be good back up,” Bobby said, his words, though full of reasonable advice, carried a tone of disapproval, directed at Dean.

Castiel felt himself warming up further toward Bobby as the man praised him, in a way. As much as Bobby Singer ever praised anyone. Even if it was misguided, it felt nice.

“Yeah. When I have a spare minute from saving the fucking planet. Again,” Dean said.

Castiel knew he wouldn’t be getting gun training. Or combat training. Or anything else that could make him an effective hunter. Some part of him was insulted, the part that used to be a soldier, and a good one. But another part of him was glad to be freed of the burden. While Bobby had relaxed after their run to the car, Castiel’s heart was still beating wildly, and his hands shook, still feeling the kick of the gun. What if Bobby hadn’t turned around in time? What if the leviathan had hurt them? Or killed them? Being part of the hunt, the on the ground work that Dean and Sam did was much too terrifying while he was so fragile and mortal.

~

With Bobby settled in at Rufus’ old hunting cabin, setting up their main camp there, the Winchesters plus Castiel were off on the road again. Castiel idly wondered why he was taken along again. The night before, Bobby had grumbled out an offer to Dean, for Castiel to stay in the cabin with him. But, Castiel was woken the next morning, told to be ready within an hour, and that was that. They were moving again, and the small reprieve from Dean’s punishments, brought on by the close quarters with Bobby, ended.

Castiel found himself being punished almost once a week, and he sometimes suspected it wasn’t because of mistakes, but because Dean just wanted to spank him, to remind him of his place. Dean made up his own rules, wouldn’t tell Castiel, and expected the former angel to know them anyway, and punished him when he didn’t.

Castiel got spanked for not knowing Dean wanted to wake up early one morning to get in extra time for driving. He got spanked for buying Dean the cheapest razors he could find, which Dean had requested, but didn’t realize that he meant the cheapest ones with a triple blade. He got spanked for showering first and getting the floor wet.

Castiel should have been infuriated by Dean’s lack of consistency, leaving him unable to learn the rules and improve himself. But due to the exhilarating and guilty pleasure he received from Dean’s hand, leaving him with raging hard-ons that he discreetly rubbed into the mattress as he was spanked, he hardly considered it punishment anymore. In fact, he had to be careful not to look too eager when Dean ordered him to drop his pants and lie on the bed. He had to be careful not to moan too wantonly as the blows fell. And he had to be careful to hide his erection as he stumbled to the bathroom after each groin tightening session.

The only thing that was irritating was how unpredictable it would be. Castiel never knew when he would get his punishment, or for what, as the infractions were unknowable, unless Dean seemed to be in the mood for it.

Which gave Castiel the idea to start breaking rules that he really knew would get Dean angry.

~

Castiel was nudged awake with a boot in his side, not hard, but jarring, and he jerked awake to look up at Dean’s angry green eyes as the hunter loomed over him in the early morning light.

“Did you forget something last night, Castiel?” Dean asked with a low growl in his voice. And Castiel knew he was in trouble when Dean used his full name like that. He blinked up owlishly at Dean, feigning confusion and sleepiness, when in fact, his pulse was already starting to race, and all his senses were on high alert in anticipation.

“Forget?” he parroted, still feigning confusion.

“You’ve got three jobs every night. Fill the Impala, check the wards, and…?”

“Clean the guns,” Castiel murmured, lowering his eyes, trying his best to look contrite. 

“You know how important it is to clean the guns. I can’t have them jamming in the middle of a hunt. Do you want my gun to jam in the middle of a hunt?”

“No. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I forgot. I’ll clean them now.”

“You’ll clean them after,” Dean said, and nodded toward his bed.

Quickly and obediently, Castiel went to lie down on Dean’s bed, loosening and lowering the pajama bottoms he’d been sleeping in. His hands were trembling, shaking as he untied the cord at his waist, and he hoped Dean recognized it as trepidation, rather than anticipation.

“You’re getting thirty today,” Dean said, as he sat down on the bed next to Castiel’s hip. “Because you should definitely know better about the guns. But today, I don’t want to hear a sound out of you. If you make a sound, I’ll give you forty smacks. Understand?”

Castiel nodded, his heart leaping up into his throat at the promise of a longer punishment, and perhaps even a compounded one if he disobeyed again. He pondered whether he should let out a sound on purpose or not. He wondered if he would be able to orgasm, just from being spanked, or if he would still need the extra stimulation of his hand afterwards. It was much too risky to try though, so he decided he would do his best not to make a sound.

Dean set to work on him quickly, and Castiel caught a small gasp in his throat from the first smack. Dean’s smacks were even, well paced, and hard, rocking Castiel’s body against the mattress, grinding his cock into the sheets. Already, he was growing hard, his erection jammed beneath his body as the heat of Dean’s hand spread through him. He allowed himself harsh, panting breaths, but bit back every moan and gasp Dean’s hand tried to pull from him.

It was harder than he had expected. Before, he’d always had the outlet of noise for his punishment. Dean had always allowed him to cry out and gasp and moan. Initially, it had been from pain, but Castiel discovered that the sounds elicited by pain and ecstasy were similar enough, that Dean couldn’t tell the difference when his noises had changed. He was no longer biting back his cries out of pride, but rather to hold back the tide of heat washing over him.

Now, he was forced to be silent, when all he wanted to do was writhe and moan, grinding his cock into the mattress as Dean turned his cheeks a fiery red. Afraid he would bite through his own lip, Castiel shoved his hand into his mouth, biting down on his knuckles. He choked back his groans, taking deep breaths to stifle them.

As the spanking rounded twenty smacks, and passed it, Castiel was having a harder time holding back his noises. His whole body felt on fire as his punishment, his pleasure, went on longer than usual. He could feel his cock pulsing, and dripping through the front of his pajamas, surely staining them. Just one more thing to hide from Dean.

He shut his eyes and bit his knuckles harder, bracing against Dean’s hand, and trying to keep count for when it would be over, for when he could finally limp into the bathroom and relieve the pressure Dean had no idea he was causing. 

When Dean laid down the thirtieth smack, he left his hand resting on Castiel’s heated cheeks. Castiel let out a shaky breath as the punishment finally ended. His body was tight, and strung out, and he was anxious for the order to get off the bed, to get permission to take his shower.

“You took that well,” Dean murmured, pinching Castiel’s burned cheek. Castiel flinched, and his cock jumped underneath him, but he still didn’t make a sound. “You’re getting used to this. You don’t even cry anymore.”

Castiel remained silent, though he looked at Dean curiously. Dean didn’t usually speak after his punishment, aside from the order to move. Dean was looking back at Castiel, studying him, and Castiel felt himself grow even hotter under the man’s intense gaze.

“Maybe I should start using a belt instead of my hand. What do you think?” Dean asked.

Castiel closed his eyes, thinking about the feeling of a leather belt lashing his cheeks and thighs, striping him red, lancing pain and pleasure into his skin. His cock throbbed in response to the image, the thought of it alone exciting him to the point that he shivered.

“I wouldn’t hit you as much. Maybe only ten times,” Dean said, his voice soothing, and softer, and Castiel realized he’d mistaken the shiver of pleasure, for one of fear. He found it curious that Dean would say something so comforting.

“You can do as you like,” Castiel said, words that came easily to his mouth now, to show his humility, to beg forgiveness for his sins.

“I’ll think about it. Go ahead and shower. But don’t take so damn long, or I’ll spank you again.”

Castiel nodded and sat up carefully, well practiced in keeping his body turned away from Dean as he adjusted his pants and tugged down his shirt. He moved quickly to the bathroom, and knew that his shower would be quick as he reached down to fist his cock through the thin cotton of his pajama bottoms. It would only take a few strokes this time.

~

Castiel had to be very careful about his intentional mistakes. Too often, and Dean would become suspicious, thinking he was being intentionally willful, or really too incompetent to keep around. And if any of his mistakes were too grand, too sacred, Dean might do something worse than spank him, and he couldn’t be sure he would like it. For example, when he was given a task involving the Impala, he dared not mess it up.

His mistakes had to be small, and irregularly scheduled, so he spent most of his free time trying to think of ways to get punished by Dean, so he could control the frequency and know when to expect it. He found it made him less nervous and anxious about his tasks, knowing that he would earn Dean’s punishment on his own terms, and not be so caught off guard.

Of course, occasionally, he still made real mistakes, but he didn’t feel as angry about the whimsy of Dean’s anger, knowing he could bring it on when he wished to get what he wanted.

For several weeks, it was a perfect system.

Castiel was popping the button of his jeans, ready to stretch out on Dean’s bed. He had just been caught napping, on one of the beds, while Dean had been out hunting. It was going to be an extra long punishment, Dean said, because Castiel knew better, and had done it deliberately, thinking he wouldn’t be caught. 

Once Castiel was in the right position, Dean settled in beside him, habit overtaking him in his task. He palmed Castiel’s ass for a moment, and then it began, hard, stinging, relentless, and Castiel reveled in it. The gasps of pleasure spilled from his lips, bitten back slightly, to mangle them into pained noises. His hips flexed and rolled, like he wanted to escape, avoid the hardness of Dean’s hand, when really, all he wanted was more.

But suddenly, after fifteen smacks, Dean stopped, and pulled his hand away.

Castiel’s breath caught, confusion and surprise overwhelming him. He turned his head to look at Dean questioningly, for stopping the punishment so early.

“Turn over,” Dean said, his eyes hard, but a small grin tugging at his lips.

“What?” Castiel asked, panic suddenly welling up in him, like it hadn’t in such a long time. He’d almost forgotten the feeling, and how it made his heart race and his guts roil.

“Turn over. Onto your back,” Dean said. That grin was still tugging his lips, but his voice grew harder as his order was not immediately obeyed.

“W-why?” Castiel asked, trying to stall for time. He was achingly hard, his cock swollen and obvious in his underwear. If he moved to his back, there was no way Dean wouldn’t notice.

“Because I told you to,” Dean said, the threat evident in his voice.

Castiel whimpered. There was no escape. If he continued to refuse, he wasn’t sure what Dean would do. Hurt him? Leave him? He had no good reason to stay on his stomach, no good reason to disobey, so finally, with his eyes clenched tightly shut, as if he could hide, he rolled over.

For several seconds, Castiel laid there, frozen solid with fear. He expected a sharp intake of breath when Dean saw his shameful state. He expected the hunter to be angry that Castiel had found some secret, perverted pleasure in his punishment. He expected recriminations, disgust, perhaps even laughter about his sorry state. 

He did not expect Dean to grab his cock and give it a tight squeeze.

Castiel’s eyes flew wide as his dick was grabbed, and he let out a gasp, followed by a helpless moan as Dean gripped him tightly. His eyes went wildly to Dean, seeing the hunter with his eyes focused at his groin, studying him intently. He looked a little angry, but not very surprised.

“You were napping on the bed on purpose, weren’t you?” Dean asked, not taking his eyes off Castiel’s groin. His hand remained there, gripping, but not moving.

“Yes,” Castiel said quickly.

“And you’ve been doing this for awhile, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Castiel said again, just as quickly, the confession coming easily to his lips.

“Did I tell you that you could get off on my punishment? That you could masturbate in the shower when I was finished with you?” Dean asked, his voice going lower, huskier.

“No… I’m sorry… But I thought-“

“Who told you to think?” Dean snapped, cutting him off. “I told you to obey me. Do everything I say. And instead, you’re doing this,” Dean said, with another tight squeeze.

“That’s not how it started. I just want-“

“I know what you want. You want to be punished. Trust me. I am happy to oblige you. So, take off your pants, and your underwear, and spread your legs.”

Castiel’s breath caught when he heard that order, trying to understand it, but finding no answer. All he knew was that he was afraid of Dean’s anger, and whatever new punishment he would do. He was quite certain he would not like it. Still, he had the audacity to ask; “Why?”

Dean looked for a moment like he wouldn’t answer, since he usually didn’t answer Castiel’s questions, but then a truly wicked smile quirked his lips.

“Because your cock made a mistake. And when someone makes a mistake, they get spanked.”

Castiel gulped, and shut his eyes against his own panic, a shiver overcoming him at the thought of Dean’s harsh smacks connecting with his sensitive genitals. The thought of the hand on his ass was exciting, but that same pain between his legs… He was sure that he wouldn’t find the activity quite as arousing.

But he knew he must. He had to give in to Dean. To obey him, to follow him. If he was ever to be forgiven, if he was ever to make himself useful to the hunter again, he had to endure whatever Dean asked of him.

So he did as told, and slipped his pants and underwear off. By now, the fear in his belly had caused his erection to wilt between his legs, leaving him limp and helpless. As instructed, he spread his legs as wide as the bed allowed and laid back, waiting for Dean’s next move.

Dean watched as Castiel undressed and got himself into position, his eyes steady on the fallen angel, watching his limbs, studying his face, while his own expression was unreadable. Once Castiel was ready, Dean sat down on the foot of the bed, between Castiel’s spread legs. He surveyed him more, and then pushed his legs even further apart, so that Castiel’s feet slid off the bed, his ankles catching on the edge. Castiel felt a slight tension on his inner thighs, as the muscles stretched, but he didn’t say anything, just waited.

“I’m going to give you ten smacks,” Dean said slowly, leaning in closer to Castiel’s groin. “If you try to close your legs, I’ll give you fifteen. Do you understand?”

Castiel nodded, quickly and obediently, and Dean looked pleased by his response. Without another word, Dean raised his hand and brought it down hard on his genitals. Castiel could not help the shout of pain that surged up into his chest and burst out through his lips. His instinct was to slam his legs together, to protect this incredibly sensitive part of his body, but a niggling thought in the back of his mind warned him not to, and he strained to keep his legs spread.

Castiel cried out again as Dean slapped his cock, the sensitive flesh flopping between his legs helplessly. Dean took his time with each slap, letting the pain seep into Castiel, ebb through his body, and finally knot with a touch of nausea in his stomach, before the next blow fell.

Five slaps focused on Castiel’s cock, slow and steady, as Dean smacked it from side to side, a small smile tugging his lips, and Castiel likened it to a cat playing with a mouse. But then Dean changed the angle of his hand, holding Castiel’s cock out of the way with his other hand. He gave Castiel five, quick swats to his balls, each smack building up in a crescendo between his legs, barely giving Castiel time to breath between each slap. Castiel didn’t notice the slaps had actually stopped because the pain still throbbed between his legs, fanning out to the rest of his body with a nerve tightening ache.

Suddenly, Dean’s hand was knotted in Castiel’s shirt front, and his vision swam as he was pulled upright, sitting face to face with Dean, who looked happier than Castiel had seen in a long time, even when he was being good and following orders.

“This is what I wanted to see,” Dean said huskily as he looked at Castiel’s face. It took Castiel a moment, but he realized he was crying again, the tears leaving cool tracks against his hot and embarrassed cheeks. It had been a long time since he last cried from Dean’s ministrations.

Dean stood up, and looked down at Castiel. He gripped the other man’s cheek and smeared the tears into his skin with his thumb. The gesture was gentle, after heat of punishment still burning between his legs. Castiel found himself lowering his head to lean into the touch.

That’s when Castiel saw it, the prominent bulge in Dean’s pants, straining against the tight material of his jeans like Castiel’s own erection had not too long ago. Castiel looked up curiously at Dean, his face a mask of misunderstanding.

“You think you were the only one enjoying this?” Dean asked, and that old, devilish grin he’d once flashed almost daily appeared like a ghost on his lips. Castiel hadn’t seen that grin in months. A grin he associated immediately with Dean, always reminding him too of that maverick wink he would wield expertly at cute waitresses. He’d missed that grin.

Castiel made a choice. He needed acceptance and affection, so without really thinking, he pushed his head forward and nuzzled into Dean’s groin, rubbing his face against the heated bulge in the man’s pants, and feeling how hard he was.

Dean groaned at the contact, and despite how surprising the action was for Castiel, Dean accepted it, and pushed back, grinding against the pressure of Castiel’s face quickly and easily, like they had already done this a hundred times. 

Castiel almost fell forward, most of his weight leaning against Dean, when the man pulled back. He watched, fascinated as Dean started undoing his belt, and then his button and zipper. He pushed his jeans down, bunched up with his underwear, and his cock sprang free, hard and heavy, only inches from Castiel’s face. 

“Open your mouth,” Dean ordered, and Castiel obeyed quickly. The thrill of obeying, because he wanted to, surged through him as he parted his lips.

Dean quickly slid his cock into Castiel’s eager mouth, and slid his hands into Castiel’s hair to tug him forward and hold him close. Castiel made a small murmuring sound in the back of his throat and closed his eyes. The taste of Dean flooded his mouth, thick and musky from being tucked inside his pants all day. He wondered idly how Dean would taste right after a shower.

“Use your tongue, around the tip,” Dean instructed, pulling back a little bit so that the tip of his dick was at the front of Castiel’s mouth. Castiel nodded and did as told, working his tongue around the tip of Dean’s cock, discovering the shape of him, and his sharp taste. He listened intently to the sounds Dean made, and noted which actions elicited them.

“Suck it. Watch your teeth. Put your tongue there…” Dean murmured soft, encouraging instructions, his voice unraveling easily in the room as Castiel listened avidly. This was what he’d wanted; simple, clear instruction. He wanted to be taught what to do, how to do it, how to be useful to Dean. If this was what Dean wanted from him, he was very happy to learn.

Soon, Dean’s instructions fell to the wayside as his language faltered to grunts and moans. His hands tightened in Castiel’s hair, and his hips quickened, starting to thrust in and out of Castiel’s mouth. Occasionally, his cock would push too far, striking the back of Castiel’s throat, and Castiel would gag. A rough choking noise would come up and tears would sting in his eyes.

“Swallow,” Dean ordered. That was all the warning Castiel got before his mouth was flooded with come. He obeyed happily, swallowing it quickly, not wanting to spill. As the last pulse spattered his tongue, he considered the taste of Dean’s semen, different from his own. He’d found his somewhat unpleasant the one time he had curiously licked a drop from his fingers. 

Dean pulled his cock out slowly, and released Castiel’s hair after giving it one final tug. He tucked himself away while still looking at Castiel, not breaking eye contact. His eyes were half-lidded, but dilated. He looked sated and relaxed.

“Good,” Dean said softly, and it was the first praise Castiel had ever received for a task Dean asked him to perform. 

He thought again of the taste of Dean’s semen, compared to his own. It was bitter, and salty, but there was something else there, an odd flavor he didn’t think one could taste, not with such limited senses afforded to the human body. But it was there nonetheless, even if it was just a hint, but surely it was forgiveness.

~

“You look like a microwaved turd,” Dean said as Sam approached him in the diner for breakfast. Castiel had stayed behind in the motel. New to his human body, he wasn’t used to the greasy food the Winchesters preferred in the morning, and usually ate something simple on his own.

Sam scowled at him, reached in his pocket, and slammed a bandana down on the counter. “Do me a favor and gag your boyfriend when you fuck him, OK?”

“Boyfriend? Fucking? What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s been bad enough having to listen to him moan like a bitch in heat, but now I get woken up from a dead sleep to hear him scream through the walls? No way. Gag him.”

“Look, we’re not-“

“I don’t care what you’re doing with him,” Sam cut him off quickly. “You’re the one who insisted he come with us, but that doesn’t mean I have to deal with him, too. If you want to forgive him, fine. But I don’t want to hear about it, OK?”

“I haven’t forgiven him, Sam.”

“You’re getting close. I see the way you look at him, the way you treat him. You’re forgetting what he did to me, Dean. What he did to us.”

“I’m not forgetting. I’m just not as angry about it as you are. Dude made a mistake. He’s trying to make up for it.”

“Yeah, the whole motel heard how he’s making up for it,” Sam said, scowling at his brother.

“It’s not what you think, Sammy.”

“Just try to remember what he did to us, Dean. I can’t stop you if you want to forgive him, just don’t expect me to do the same.”

~

“Here,” Dean said, handing the bandana to Castiel after returning to the motel from canvassing the neighborhood with Sam, looking for information and leads. “It’s a gift from Sam.”

Castiel turned away from the research he was doing in order to look at the bandana. He looked dubiously at it, and then at Dean. “Why would Sam give me a present? And why this?” he asked, looking at the small square of red cloth with white and black paisleys.

“Apparently you’ve been disturbing his beauty sleep. He wants me to gag you during our evening activities.”

Shame flooded into Castiel immediately, and he could feel his cheeks turning bright red. It was bad enough being subjected to Dean’s punishment, painful and embarrassing, but to have Sam know as well that he was being so humiliated, was more than he could manage.

“You… You told him about it?” Castiel asked, feeling a momentary flash of anger rise up in him, perhaps even a small feeling of betrayal. Dean never mentioned it in front of Sam, and always waited until the other man left in order to dole out his punishment. He’d thought it was a secret. He’d thought that his suffering was private between him and Dean. 

“No. Apparently you did. He said you ‘moan like a bitch in heat’ while we’re fucking.”

Castiel’s head shot up, meeting Dean’s eyes directly, his confusion clear and overwhelming. “Fucking?” he asked, because surely, he hadn’t heard that correctly.

“Sam thinks we’ve been fucking whenever I spank you. You really have enjoyed getting your ass tanned this whole time, haven’t you?”

“Not the first time…” Castiel offered, as a lame excuse.

“Right,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. He was still annoyed that Castiel had been getting off on punishment since it began. “Well, this was his way of saying you’re too loud. Especially last night. I can’t have you keeping him up and off his game, so when it’s time for punishment, put that on. Which brings me to another point; I need you to make nice with Sam.”

“Sam’s hatred towards me… I do not think it can be rectified. Being near him is a constant reminder of how I wronged him,” Castiel said, forlornly. He wanted to be friends again with Sam, but knew it was nearly impossible. Sometimes, he wished he hadn’t come out of the reservoir alive. Perhaps then, his death would have earned him some pity.

“Don’t think. Just do it. Or we’ll be making use of that gag sooner than you think.”

“You… you can’t punish me for that,” Castiel argued, panicked by the unfairness. He had no way to control Sam’s emotions. He couldn’t force the other hunter to like him again, even if Dean threatened to punish him for it.

“Sure I can,” Dean said cheerfully. “And I’ll use this.” From inside his coat, Dean pulled out a leather riding crop, and brandished it playfully at Castiel. “I saw it at a little novelty shop and thought of you.”

“I don’t know what to do with Sam,” Castiel said, blanching at the sight of the small whip, shuddering at the thought of it working between his legs, sharp and unyielding. “He won’t even look at me. Tell me what to do.”

“Small steps, Cas. Make yourself useful to him like you did to me. Well,” he paused, looking thoughtful and dangerous. “Not just like me. If you start sucking Sam off, I’ll whip your cock until you pass out.”

Castiel gulped hard at the threat, unsure if Dean was being serious or just teasing him. He was almost certain that Dean was just teasing, but he didn’t want to risk it, so he set his mind to fixing his relationship with Sam. 


	4. Chapter 4

With Dean’s promise to punish him for failure still on his mind, Castiel forced himself to try reconciling with Sam by making himself useful, as Dean had suggested. With a duffel bag of dirty laundry over his shoulder, Castiel knocked on Sam’s door with as much confidence as he could muster.

Sam opened the door slowly, surely after looking through the peep hole and seeing Castiel, and gave him a dangerous look.

“I’m doing laundry. Can I take yours as well?” Castiel asked meekly, not quite meeting Sam’s eye, and hating that he couldn’t get up the courage to do it.

Sam stared at him for a moment, his face expressionless, and then without a word, slammed the door in Castiel’s face. Castiel sighed. He hadn’t really expected anything different and went off to do his and Dean’s laundry.

Over the course of the day, Castiel offered to carry Sam’s duffel bag for him, got his FBI badge from the car when Sam forgot it, filled out credit card applications under Sam’s aliases, and as a last ditch effort, brought him a slice of chocolate cake.

At the end of the day, Sam took a swing at Castiel, which he barely dodged, and threw the cake on the ground. Castiel made a hasty and shameful retreat back to the motel room he shared with Dean. Once there, Dean looked at him expectantly.

“I tried,” Castiel said pitifully.

“But failed?” Dean said, tsking softly as he got up to rummage through his bag. He pulled out the riding crop.

“Dean, please! It’s only been one day and I tried my hardest! This isn’t fair!” Castiel argued, almost feeling his testicles tightening up inside his body from the sight of the relentless whip.

“You tried your hardest?” Dean asked, sounding doubtful.

“I did, I swear,” Castiel insisted.

Dean considered that for a moment, looking deep in thought. Slowly, he put the crop down on the table, and Castiel allowed a small amount of relief to release the tension in his chest. He was still wary though.

“You did try,” Dean mused. “So we’ll do something a little different.”

Dean went to sit on the foot of the bed, and patted his lap. “Take off your pants and lie down on my lap. Ass up.”

Castiel did as told without hesitating, used to Dean’s strange requests and not knowing what to expect from them. He stripped off his pants and underwear, and stretched out over Dean’s lap, bracing himself with his hands and knees on the sides of the bed. Then he waited patiently for whatever Dean had in mind.

“You like getting spanked, don’t you Cas?” Dean asked, rubbing his hand over Castiel’s bared cheeks. Castiel couldn’t deny it, so he nodded. He beat down a small tremor in his heart that hoped Dean was going to spank him, because he knew that would never happen again.

“I’m going to spank you,” Dean said, and Castiel’s heart trembled again. “But, if you get hard while I’m spanking you, I’m going to give your cock the crop. So, you must try your hardest not to be such a slut when I spank you.”

“How many?” Castiel asked, his mouth gone dry from Dean’s proposal.

“Hmmm. Not sure. I’ll let you know when I’m finished.”

Castiel whimpered at the open ended answer since he wouldn’t know how long he had to last, but didn’t have much time to contemplate that, as Dean’s hand fell suddenly on his raised cheeks. That mind-numbing, intoxicating heat flooded through Castiel’s body, pain and pleasure mixing confusingly through his head and targeting that traitorous organ between his legs.

He gave a sharp cry from the first blow, and then shoved his fist into his mouth, closed his eyes, and imagined the crop working hard and fast between his legs, causing a chill to run down to his groin and dampen the heat.

But Dean’s hand was relentless on his backside, varying the smacks so Castiel couldn’t predict them. Sometimes they were light and quick, a light pitter patter against his skin that made it tingle. Sometimes, Dean’s hand fell hard, jostling Castiel’s body, rubbing his groin against Dean’s thigh. The thought of the crop, which he had yet to experience, was proving a weak defense against his body’s heated memory of Dean’s hand.

Castiel racked his brain for other unarousing thoughts, to keep his groin in check against the onslaught of sensation. He thought of cleaning guns, a mind-numbingly boring activity. And he thought of when Dean had set his broken fingers, the pain so precise to his newly human body, he had passed out. He thought of the dead, cold look in Sam’s eyes, and thought he was all set. There was no way he could get aroused by the thought of Sam’s eyes.

Except he found his mind wandering to the thought of Dean’s eyes, which were a similar shade of green, and how they looked at him when he’d done something wrong in the past. The look of determination he had when he told Castiel to assume the position on his bed. The way they’d smoldered the other night when Castiel had discovered the other man’s erection and taken it into his mouth.

Castiel’s breath caught as he remembered the taste of Dean, and a flood of heat rushed down to his groin, too late for him to stop it. He tried to buck his hips up, draw away from Dean’s thighs, think again of the crop, and cleaning guns, and pain.

But Dean’s hand held him down firmly, and his hand fell steadily, heating Castiel up, rocking him forward, pushing him over, and Castiel let out a pitiful cry of protest, his lips forming a broken “No,” as he swelled with pleasure and felt it intensify as his cock grew hard against Dean’s thigh, rubbing against his jeans.

“Fifteen? Is that it?” Dean asked, rubbing Castiel’s hot and red cheeks roughly, grinding Castiel down harder against his thigh. “You really are a spanking slut, aren’t you? Get up. Spread out on the bed.”

Castiel slid shakily from Dean’s lap and climbed onto the bed as Dean retrieved the crop. Very reluctantly, he spread his legs. His cock sprang up between them, like it didn’t know what was about to happen. Castiel spared it a glare, thinking of it as a creature not really attached to him and completely out of his control.

“Now you see why trying your hardest isn’t good enough,” Dean said. He gave Castiel the gag Sam had given him, and once it was in place, whipped Castiel until he cried, which wasn’t very long at all.

~ 

Somehow, Castiel convinced Dean to only punish him once a week for his failures with Sam. He argued that there was no way he could make progress in just one day, and for some reason, Dean accepted his argument. He took it as another sign of Dean’s growing forgiveness that he was willing to be so lenient.

Castiel kept his offerings to Sam subtle and unobtrusive, translating texts for him unasked, and leaving them for Sam to find. The man would know it was Castiel’s work, but there was no need for Castiel to present it, forcing himself into Sam’s sphere physically. 

He became more vocal in front of Sam, though not to him. He forced himself to speak when Sam and Dean discussed and argued over the facts of a job, even though speaking in front of Sam, indirectly to him, was still painfully awkward. He used what knowledge he could still remember from his long lifetime as an angel to give advice and insight, to get the jobs done as quickly and painlessly as possible.

But despite all this, Castiel could see no headway between him and Sam, not even a lessening of the man’s glare, or his twitchy nature when Castiel was in the room. Dean noticed this as well, and when they were alone, would remind Castiel of his task, urging him to try harder with the sting of the crop.

After one such reminder, Castiel was kneeling between Dean’s legs, sucking his cock, while the man rested on a chair. He still held the crop in his hand, and rested it on Castiel’s shoulder, rolling it a little between his fingers.

Castiel’s cheeks felt tight, where his skin had dried from his tears. He still felt a little embarrassed about crying, but at least it wasn’t as bad as before, when thick, breathless sobs had wracked his chest. Now, it was just a tight leak of tears, trickling out from behind his clenched eyelids as he waited for Dean to finish his punishment. When it was done, his cock was left sore and stinging, small and limp between his legs.

Part of him wished his arousal had never been discovered, so he could continue with the heated pain and pleasure struck into his behind, but then he considered that he wouldn’t have the pleasure he had now, of holding Dean in his mouth, and occasionally gaining his praise afterwards.

“Spread your cheeks,” Dean said suddenly.

Castiel looked up, surprised. Dean rarely spoke while Castiel did this. He was also confused by the command, not sure what it meant, or how he would do it. But he took a guess and puffed out his cheeks around Dean’s cock. This earned him a hard, hysterical laugh from Dean, and he pulled away, frustrated by his own misunderstanding.

“Your ass cheeks,” Dean clarified, once he’d regained his breath. “Grab each ass cheek with your hands, and spread them wide. And get back on my dick.”

Castiel complied with both orders, taking Dean back into his mouth, and also reaching behind himself to spread the cheeks of his ass, exposing the tight little hole of his anus to the air. He looked up at Dean questioningly, to make sure he was doing it right.

“Better. I want to test something,” Dean said, leaning forward to get a better look at Castiel’s body. He smoothed a hand down Castiel’s spine, resting it in the middle of his back. “Now, whatever you do, don’t bite down,” Dean said, the command sounding like a threat.

Castiel’s eyes widened at this odd command, but he had no time to consider it as his anus was suddenly struck with the crop, and the pain was sharp, merciless, and intense. He let out a wild cry, but it was muffled by Dean’s cock. Above him, he could hear Dean chuckle as he struggled to regain his breath.

“How was that? Did you like it?” Dean asked, the crop resting against Castiel’s ass, smoothing over him gently while Castiel’s hole twitched with worry.

Castiel considered the question, as Dean’s silence stretched on. The crop against his hole had been sharp, and intense, and instinctively, he had wanted to shy away from the pain. But that wasn’t the question. Spanking also hurt, and he liked that, immensely. He looked up at Dean, the man’s cock still in his mouth, and his eyes showed his indecision. He had no answer.

“How about a few more so you can be sure?”

Castiel whimpered, not sure that was what he wanted, but he had no choice in the matter, as he felt the crop rise from his skin, and then fall again, a quick, sharp sting. He flinched instinctively, and gasped. Before he could catch his breath, the crop fell again, and then again, three times in quick succession, and to Castiel’s mortification, a moan worked up from his throat while the heat from the crop worked its way to his groin, making it twitch to life despite its earlier whipping.

“God, you really are a spanking slut, aren’t you?” Dean asked, sitting back and watching as Castiel’s cock rose between his thighs. 

Castiel wanted to curl up and hide his shame, but all he could do was shut his eyes while his cheeks turned red with embarrassment at the sound of Dean’s words.

“What do you say I whip your hole while you suck me off? I want to see if you can come just from getting spanked.”

Castiel looked up at Dean again, startled and confused by the proposition. He wanted to ask so many questions. The whipping felt good, heat spreading through his body just from the thought of it. Why would Dean want to do that to him, for him, when before, his pleasure had been cause for anger?

“Well, come on then. I’ll even let you touch your cock if you get me off quickly,” Dean said, and while a wicked smile quirked his lips, his words were sweet and sincere, and his hand carded through Castiel’s hair gently. Castiel gave a minute nod, and with renewed enthusiasm, started working Dean’s cock over.

Dean moaned above him, pleased with the progress Castiel had made in cock sucking, and for a few minutes, he was swallowed in the pleasure of Castiel’s sweet, suckling mouth. It took him a moment to remember his promise, and with his own feeling of glee, he started bringing the crop down on Castiel’s quivering hole, making the man between his legs jump and moan, the sensation travelling to Dean’s cock as well.

Castiel was in heaven. Or, the closest feeling to it since he had fallen to earth. Dean in his mouth, the hunter pleased with him, forgiveness beading at the slit of his cock, and a hot, hard pleasure being whipped into him, making his own cock throb and drip.

He wasn’t sure he could get off just from the whipping, but if Dean would let him use his hand, he was certain he would finally experience an orgasm while being spanked, for the first time. So this encouraged his motions, and he used every trick he had learned to get Dean off, working him over with tongue and lips.

In short order, Dean was coming, the taste of his forgiveness burning down Castiel’s throat as he moaned with pleasure, his dazed eyes looking up at Dean, asking for permission without words.

“Put your head down,” Dean said. “Ass up in the air.”

Castiel followed quickly, exposing himself more for the whip eagerly while his hand flew to his cock and started jerking it wildly. Now that Dean wasn’t distracted by Castiel’s wicked mouth, the crop fell steadily between Castiel’s cheeks, and much to his delight, Dean moved the crop around, glancing Castiel’s cheeks and thighs in the process, making the whole area red, and sore, and sweet with arousal. 

It didn’t take long at all, as Castiel had expected, before he cried out, gasping and moaning with pleasure as he spilled between his fingers. He let out smaller, sharper cries as Dean continued whipping him through his orgasm, the crop striking him with each pulse of his cock, stringing him out further. 

When Dean finally stopped, Castiel collapsed on the floor, breathless, sweaty, and sticky. Dean nudged him with his foot, and Castiel could only moan, replete with his satisfaction, boneless and complete.

He heard Dean stand, zip up his pants, and tilted his head slightly towards the man, looking up at him. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice strained from his cries. Dean looked at him a little awkwardly, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Don’t go expecting that every night,” he said. “I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“I understand,” Castiel said, detecting the smallest hint of the old Dean, who said one thing, but meant another, to cover his emotions. He sat up languidly, his skin still singing, and starting to ache in a few places. He contemplated a shower, or just crawling over to his sleeping bag and curling up into it. Instead, he watched Dean as he prepared for bed. 

For a moment, he had a pang of desire, to climb into the bed with Dean, to lie beside him, wrapped in the man’s arms, held tightly and possessively. But he shook his head, banishing the thought, and crept into his sleeping bag for the night.

~

They were in Couer d’Alene, Idaho, a city the Winchesters had visited four years ago to trap a demon and torture him for information about Lilith. Castiel wondered sometimes what Dean had been like, when he knew he was damned, and had struggled so hard to save himself. Only then to discover the whole thing had been planned for centuries, inevitable. 

While the Winchesters went to talk to Nora Havelock, the Wicca who had helped them before, Castiel remained with copies of the police files, getting himself familiar with the case from four years ago, and the three more recent murders. 

Just a few months ago, police reports were pure gibberish to him. The pages of information, acronyms, and jargon language were completely illegible. But with patience, and also sometimes frustration, Dean had walked him through the procedures, training him like a hunter, at least as far as research went. So now he understood the short hand the police used, and most of the coroner’s report as well, though that had come even slower, and with several borrowed (stolen) library books. 

Several hours passed. The Winchesters had checked in, telling him their whereabouts; Sam at the library, watching a potential victim, Dean with a boy named Jeffrey, the one who had been possessed by the demon before.

Castiel was startled from his research when Sam barged into his motel room, his face a mask of panic and fear.

“Dean’s missing,” Sam said. “Jeffrey’s involved somehow,” Sam continued, his mouth running fast and sure, powered by the panic clear on his face. For the first time in a long time, that hatred he always targeted at Castiel was gone. He was too distracted for that.

“Look. The latest victims were all drugged. A demon wouldn’t need to do that,” Sam said, laying out the doctor’s reports. Castiel scanned them, vaguely remembered the name of the drug listed. 

“If Jeffrey is involved… You should search his home,” Castiel offered, unused to speaking to Sam so directly, giving him his advice. But then he watched as Sam’s eyes darted to a corner of the room, his eyes widening a little, and then he pressed hard into his hand, into an old wound, grimacing with pain.

“Sam, you must be careful,” Castiel said softly. “In this emotional state… it will be easier for him to get in,” Castiel said, and his eyes too darted to the corner where Sam had looked. Of course, he couldn’t see what Sam saw, the visions of Lucifer, taunting and tormenting him.

“I know,” Sam snapped, his hands still shaking a little. “C’mon. We need to find Dean.”

“We?” Castiel asked, surprised. He’d never followed the men on a hunt. He wasn’t allowed.

“He’s in my head because of you,” Sam growled, a touch of that hatred bleeding through his fear and panic. “The least you can do is drown him out while I work on this.”

~

As he’d suspected, Castiel was of little use to Sam, offering him no information the hunter didn’t already know, couldn’t figure out on his own. But he listened as the man worked the details out himself, talking to Castiel, but then not really waiting for him to answer. He saw the man glance over to his hallucination of Lucifer on occasion, and called him back, with just a word or a noise, focusing Sam’s attention again in the real world.

At Jeffrey’s home, they found an empty box for a cell phone scrambler, a device that Sam assumed was blocking Dean’s phone, making it impossible to call him. And then hidden away in a secret drawer, they found an archaic and powerful summoning spell, translated by the hand of the Wicca, Nora.

They went to her shop, and questioned her, discovered that Jeffrey was the one behind all the murders. He was trying to summon the demon into himself again. Nora had only helped to save her son. Castiel watched as Sam’s anger bled away in the face of Nora’s fear, her desire to protect her son. Castiel felt the same way for Dean, but hoped his emotions were not showing quite so clearly as hers.

Castiel watched with undisguised amazement as Nora worked the location spell, using her son’s severed ear to find where Jeffrey had hidden Dean and the boy. For a moment, his heart ached, as he remembered when he could fly to Dean at any time, find him anywhere in the world and aid him. And this woman could do it so easily, even though she was only a human, powerless and weak.

When they went to the warehouse where Jeffrey was hidden, Castiel remained outside. He had no proficiency with firearms, and no craft to expel the demon, as Nora did. He stayed in the car, hunched down in the back seat, with nothing to do but hope that Dean would be safe.

~

Castiel accompanied Nora and her son to the hospital while Sam and Dean stayed behind to clean up the crime scene, disposing of Jeffrey’s body, leaving the police baffled once more at the unsolved serial killer case.

“Thank you for your help,” Nora said, once her son was in the safe hands of the doctors, to do what repair they could on his mutilated ear.

“I didn’t do very much,” Castiel said, feeling awkward in his role as the comforter after the traumatic experience.

“It’s OK. You’re still new at this,” she said with a caring smile. A mother’s smile.

“Am I so obvious?” 

“A little. But I also have a touch of second sight, and it’s telling me you’re not a man for guns and fist fights.”

Castiel bristled at that, wanting to argue that he had once been a soldier of heaven, battling his way through Hell, cutting down thousands of demons, a force of fury and might. But tamped the feeling down. He was not that anymore. He did not want to be either. So many had died under his hands, demon, angel, and human alike. Though he knew he would take up a weapon if he must, he had to admit his own relief when Sam told him to stay in the car as he entered the warehouse with Nora.

“Do you think your son will be all right?” Castiel asked, deliberately changing the subject. Nora was polite not to mention the sudden turn in conversation, not even a stutter in her speech indicated she noticed it.

“Mentally, maybe. Physically, he should be all right. I’ll let the doctors do their work, then take him home to do some healing of my own.”

“You’re a healer?” Castiel asked, somewhat surprised. 

“It’s not as though I can wave my hand and replace his ear,” Nora said, with a small laugh. “I don’t have that sort of power. But I can stop the pain, make it heal faster than normal.”

“You have an extraordinary ability,” Castiel said, honestly impressed with her skill. It was not often that humans could wield magic so potently, at least, not without the aid of black magic and demon deals.

“It runs in my family, so I have an edge. But anyone can learn, hone the skill as best they can if they study and practice and focus.”

“You can heal people, and locate them… What else can you do?” Castiel asked.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel was happy.

Sam didn’t completely and totally hate him anymore, with a seething fiery vengeance. They weren’t exactly friends just yet. But at least Sam would talk to him, sometimes.

Nora had lent him a thin volume on Wiccan magic. It was mostly history and lore, and a few meditative exercises, to heighten his senses and open his mind to the craft. She said it would be some time before he could do anything, but he found the exercises soothing and relaxing.

Then of course there was the fact that Dean’s cock was in his mouth, and the man was lightly and teasingly whipping his spread hole with the crop, the sound of it as well as the sensation making Castiel throb with pleasure. 

And Dean hadn’t even punished him.

They’d been in their motel room, resting between hunts. Castiel had been cleaning the guns. Dean had been online looking for another job. A long time had passed since they’d spoken, so Castiel was startled when Dean called his name.

“Come here,” the hunter had said and beckoned Castiel over.

Castiel had gone over obediently, and stood in front of Dean, waiting for instruction.

“Here,” Dean had said, his voice going lower, and his hand shifting down to the groin of his pants. Castiel’s eyes followed and he saw the bulge of Dean’s erection, tenting his jeans. He’d nodded and went to his knees without hesitation, tugged Dean’s pants open, and gone to work. The addition of the crop, only working against his hole, had been an extra and unexpected treat, as far as Castiel was concerned.

This happened a few times, with Dean requesting Castiel’s mouth and teasing his hole with the crop, letting Castiel jerk off while the pleasure surged through him. Each time, Castiel was certain Dean tasted sweeter and sweeter after his orgasm flooded Castiel’s mouth.

Finally, Castiel made a daring suggestion when Dean asked for him, the third night in a row.

“You can… You can have more than my mouth…” Castiel said breathlessly, the excitement and arousal already overwhelming him from just the thought of it. If Castiel had known it would be so easy, just to offer, he would have done so earlier.

He was stripped completely naked in a matter of moments, Dean’s hands all over him, tearing off his clothes, growling at uncooperative buttons. Tentatively, Castiel reached out to Dean, gripping the hem of his shirt. When he was not reprimanded, when his hands were not batted away, he dared, and pulled Dean’s shirt over his head, ruffling his hair for a moment.

Then he was pushed back on to Dean’s bed. 

Dean shoved down his own pants and underwear, and Castiel swallowed hard at the sight of him naked, pure muscle and strength compared to Castiel’s smaller body. Dean’s skin was dark and golden, a sharp contrast to Castiel’s much lighter skin. He trembled with anticipation as the bed sank with Dean’s weight, the man climbing over him, hands going everywhere to stroke and grab and pinch, leaving Castiel a puddle of sensation and confusion.

“On your stomach,” Dean rumbled, his breath hot against Castiel’s ear. Castiel jerked at the command, one he hadn’t heard in a long time, and as the words rang in his ear, his cock jerked to attention as well, starting to swell and throb.

He quickly turned onto his stomach, and looked over his shoulder to watch Dean caress his back, run his hands along his skin, his eyes fastened to the rounded curve of Castiel’s ass. Castiel’s breath caught as he saw Dean raise his hand, and gave into the cry of pleasure as it came down, smacking his ass. Dean gave him a few hard smacks, jolting the pleasure into Castiel’s skin, but then he stopped, rubbing Castiel’s pink cheeks, feeling how warm they’d gotten so quickly.

“I can have this?” Dean asked, and his thumb slid into the cleft between Castiel’s cheeks, grazing the opening gently, teasing.

“Yes,” Castiel said, already breathless from the too short spanking.

“You’re sure?” Dean asked, pressing his thumb a little more firmly, almost but not quite pushing in.

“Please. I want you to,” Castiel insisted, pushing his hips up against Dean’s thumb.

Castiel didn’t see Dean’s slight nod, and he whined when the man pulled away, reaching beside the bed for his duffle bag. Castiel watched with interest as he fumbled inside, opening an inner pocket, and pulling out a small plastic bottle. Castiel’s heart throbbed in his chest, and his cock throbbed between his legs. 

After the first time he’d sucked Dean off, he’d done research, careful to clear the history after each session. Even then, that first time, he’d known what he wanted. As he learned how it was done between two men, watched videos that left him spent wet and sticky in his own hands, he’d become more eager and hopeful that someday Dean would want it, too.

A cool, wet finger slid inside him, slow, but unceasing. Castiel gasped, unprepared, and his hole tightened instinctively against the invasion. A firm slap on the ass loosened him up quickly enough though.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean said, his tone admonishing and teasing all at once. He smacked Castiel’s butt again as he slid his finger in deeper, working it slowly against the tight muscles as Castiel sighed with pleasure beneath him.

“You’re still a virgin, right?” Dean asked, conversationally as he wiggled his finger inside.

“Y-yes,” Castiel gasped, squirming the same way Dean’s finger moved. He was glad he was still a virgin, glad that Dean would be the first, glad that he could make this offering to him and him alone.

Dean made a noise. Castiel thought it sounded like approval, and his heart hummed with pleasure, growing thick in his chest even as he writhed against the bed, moaning out louder as Dean pushed a second finger in, the slow burn between his cheeks heightening the pleasure.

Dean worked slowly and carefully, giving Castiel a few spanks once in awhile as he fingered him, making Castiel jump with pleasure. His cock was leaking copiously against the bed, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He tried voicing his concern to Dean, but his words came out in broken, mewling sentences. He wasn’t sure if Dean understood him, as the man just chuckled and pushed his fingers deeper, wiggling and seeking until they brushed up against something hot inside Castiel’s body, like a live-wire, searing pleasure through his body. He gasped at Dean’s exploratory brush, and then cried out louder as it was fondled again, rubbed more deliberately until he was overcome, spilling out on the sheets as his body clamped around Dean’s fingers, a way of asking for even more.

Still panting, and struggling for breath, Castiel was barely aware as Dean withdrew his fingers from his still spasming hole. Vaguely he was aware of their absence, the emptiness they left behind, just as he was vaguely aware of what would follow. 

Dean moved over him, draping his body over Castiel’s, chest to back, groin to butt, thigh to thigh. Dean’s hard length bobbed between Castiel’s legs, hot and insistent. Hands under his hips urged Castiel to rise up, on his knees, though the weight at his shoulders urged him down, his face pressed into the pillows, turned to the side, so he could see Dean in his periphery. 

The head of Dean’s cock pressed up against Castiel’s hole, there was a tight pressure at first, as the little knot of flesh resisted, and then a feeling of release as Dean slid inside, Castiel’s relaxed and loosened body taking him in easily. 

Dean didn’t hesitate. Like with his finger, he moved slowly but continuously, sliding in inch by inch until his hips pressed up tight against Castiel’s ass, with nowhere left to go. Castiel was a little pile of noise, a constant whine of pleasure murmuring from his throat as he was slowly and steadily filled up to the very brim, with hard, pulsing, heat.

Dean stayed still for long moments, his own breaths puffing against the back of Castiel’s neck, strained with effort as he remained still. Castiel wiggled, his muscles tightening around Dean’s cock mindlessly, and then a whine slid from his throat.

“Please,” he said, whining, wiggling, begging for more that he didn’t understand yet.

That was all it took, and then he felt the agonizing sensation of Dean pulling back, pulling out, while his flesh clung to the man, trying to hold him in. Dean pulled back until the thick, flared tip of his cock stretched against the rim of Castiel’s hole, holding him open. And then he thrust back in, hard, making Castiel cry out, loud and unhindered.

Castiel thought, for the briefest, most distracted moment, of the gag Sam had given them, forgotten in a bag somewhere, and then his whole mind was focused, dizzily so, on the feeling of Dean pounding into him. His mind was burned on certain parts of his body; Dean’s cock splitting him open, the heavy weight of him against his back, his callused hands gripping bruises into his hips.

And the sounds they were making. He was certain he was making some of his own, but he could only hear Dean. The man panted and groaned directly into his ear, his grunts gruff, panting hot against his skin. There was the rhythmic creaking of the bed, and the slap-bang of the headboard against the wall, and most striking of all, for Castiel, was the sound of Dean’s hips slapping against his ass, the sure sound of flesh hitting flesh, so like the sound of Dean’s spankings, that it sent a fissure of pleasure cracking through him, a learned response from the familiar sound that left his skin tingling, and his cock dripping as it bobbed between his legs.

As Dean quickened behind him, his thrusts harder, uninhibited, Castiel moved back to meet him, rocking his hips back and forth, finding a natural rhythm to help drive the pleasure deep. He gasped and cried out, as the spot inside him was struck again and again by the head of Dean’s cock. The few times in the shower, with soapy fingers exploring his own hole, had never felt anything like this. He’d never been so full, and hot, and complete. 

Castiel felt as Dean’s hips jerked unevenly, as his grip tightened on Castiel, the way his hands usually tightened in his hair when Castiel used his mouth. He knew Dean was close, and keened with desire, wanting to feel the sweetness of his release inside, hold it in there as a reminder. 

Castiel reached between his legs, grabbed his rigid cock, and started stroking, palming himself quickly to get over the edge. He wanted to be overwhelmed with pleasure when Dean filled him up. He wanted their pleasure to be simultaneous, to connect them and bind them together, even closer than before.

Dean’s hips moved harder. Deep, finalizing thrusts, stabbed inside Castiel, striking his prostate each time, pushing his pleasure higher while Castiel stroked himself, trying to pull it out, to reach it just in time. 

Castiel choked on his own breath as he came, the cry stuttered in his throat as his orgasm overcame him, ripping through him, tearing out through his cock, splashing over his fingers, sticky and hot onto the sheets. His body tightened and spasmed, and above him he heard Dean grunt, his hips shifting harder, grinding into Castiel as the angel’s hole clamped around him, milking and squeezing around Dean’s cock lovingly.

Dean let out his own breathless cry as he came, and the feeling of it, of Dean’s semen spilling inside Castiel’s body gave him new breath and returned sound to him. He let out a small, happy cry, a mewling sound of pleasure and satisfaction before he slumped down. He crumpled on the bed, in the wet spot of his own making, with Dean a heavy, solid weight on top of him.

Sensation flooded over Castiel, leaving his skin on fire, sensitive to everything as he shuddered and pulsed. He let out another small cry as Dean pulled out, a sound of loss as the hunter shifted to the side. He felt empty and stretched where Dean had left him, but was also vividly aware of the man’s seed left behind. Castiel reveled in the feel of it. He was always left with the taste of Dean’s seed in his mouth, but couldn’t feel it inside. He could only imagine it. But the proof of Dean was hot inside him, dripping out just a little. Castiel wondered if he could sleep with it inside, and still feel it in the morning, or if it would just seep out, leaving his legs and sheets a sticky mess.

Dean lay beside him, stretched out on his back. They were pressed so close together, Castiel could feel the heat coming off of Dean’s body. The hunter was covered in sweat, and his breathing was still quick and heavy, but a smoothness covered his brow, a relaxed sated look took over his features. Even after oral sex, Dean did not look quite so content.

Castiel watched Dean as the hunter lay there with his eyes shut, looking like he was ready to drift off, and Castiel thrilled at the thought of lying beside him, huddled against the warmth of him, and there when he’d wake up. Castiel’s eyes went to Dean’s mouth, his lips slightly parted as he puffed out breaths, his breathing finally starting to slow.

Castiel leaned up on his elbows, hovered over Dean for just a moment, and then lowered his lips to his, pressing them gently, a dry brush, before he opened his mouth and took the smallest taste, a swipe of his tongue to see if Dean’s forgiveness was there as well, if he could taste it on his lips, even if the man hadn’t spoken the words yet.

But Dean jerked back quickly at that first touch, and gave Castiel a confused and wounded look.

“What’re you doing?” Dean asked, sitting up, taller than Castiel.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Castiel said, confused by Dean’s look after they’d shared such intimacy.

Dean stared at him for what seemed like hours, and Castiel could not read all of what was warring behind Dean’s eyes. 

“Don’t,” Dean finally said.

Castiel pulled back a little, out of the circle of warmth created by Dean’s body, reprimanded for stepping too far, doing something unasked. It was still hard for him to discern which intimacies were acceptable with Dean at this phase.

“You’re a mess,” Dean said quietly, gesturing to Castiel’s body. “Go take a shower.”

Castiel nodded and slid out of bed. When he stood up, he felt Dean’s come inside him seeping out, gravity working against him, so he stepped quickly to the bathroom, and into the tub, as it dripped down his thighs. He was saddened that he would not be able to hold it in, to remember it in the morning, as he washed quickly, rinsing off sweat and the smell of sex.

When he stepped out of the shower, he toweled off quickly, and put on a pair of boxers to sleep in. He went back out to the room and found Dean in the other bed, the one that was clean, and free of bodily fluids. The hunter looked like he was already asleep. He was clearly on one side of the bed, the covers in disarray, and Castiel approached, ready to climb in beside him, apologize for the kiss, but then he saw his sleeping bag.

Dean had laid it out for him, at the foot of the bed, leaving it open and welcoming for Castiel.

Castiel stood over it, for several minutes, his body trembling slightly, as he looked between the sleeping bag, and the bed Dean occupied. Slowly, he knelt down, and slid into the sleeping bag, hugging the pillow close to his chest. 

~

Castiel was woken up by Dean nudging him with his foot. He looked up blearily at the hunter, showered and fully dressed, without Castiel having even noticed that he was moving around the room. He certainly needed to work on that if he ever hoped to be an effective hunter.

“I’m going out to get breakfast. Sam’ll be here soon to do some research,” he said brusquely, his tone colder than usual, though not by a lot. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice the change. 

Castiel nodded to the information, understanding the words that weren’t said; to tidy up the room. Once Dean was gone, Castiel climbed out of his sleeping bag and stood up to stretch out the kinks he got from sleeping on the floor. He was much more used to it now than at first, but he looked longingly at the two beds in the room, for once, both of them looking slept in without Castiel having to mess up the sheets on the other.

As he tidied up the room, he tried not think about the night before, despite the reminder of the slight ache around his hips. He also did not think about it while he was in the shower, or brushing his teeth. Nor did he think about it while he shaved his face, carefully, like Dean had taught him.

He went to his duffel to pick out his clothes, and did not glare at the sleeping bag he had been relegated to the night before, and he did not think about what would have happened if he had not kissed Dean, for just the briefest moment. He didn’t think about what he had tasted there in that too brief kiss.

What he did start thinking about though, was that when Sam suddenly entered the room without even knocking, Castiel hadn’t yet put away his sleeping bag. It was still laid out on the floor, looking used and slept in, at the bottom of Dean’s bed, with the pillows from the other bed that neither of them had actually slept in.

Castiel cursed that hunters were trained by habit to be keen observers, and saw how Sam’s eyes went immediately to the sleeping bag on the floor, confusion creasing his brow for a moment, as he tried to figure out why it was there and being used. It didn’t take long though. Castiel could see Sam working out a theory in his head as realization dawned on his face.

“Cas, why are you sleeping on the floor?”

Castiel froze, unable to respond. If there was one rule Dean had made very clear, repeated over and over again, it was that Sam was not supposed to know what they were doing. Castiel was supposed to make sure he didn’t find out. So he messed up the second bed every morning. Rolled up the sleeping bag and tucked it away. Wore the gag whenever he was whipped. 

Sam gave Castiel an exasperated look when he saw the panic wash over Castiel’s features, and tugged him over to a chair next to the little table afforded to the motel room, forcing him to sit.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Castiel said, wishing he could think faster and come up with a reasonable lie to explain away the sleeping bag. At this point, even if he thought of something clever, his stall would damn him. He wasn’t a good enough liar to fool either Winchester.

“My brother was in a bitchtastic mood this morning, and Satan is singing show tunes in my head. Off-key. One of these is definitely your fault, and I’m assuming the other one is as well, so tell me what is going on.”

Castiel bit his lip at Sam’s words, hurt that he needed reminding, and that Sam would use that against him. Over ridden with guilt, unable to lie, compelled to tell when commanded, hesitatingly, Castiel spoke.

“I kissed Dean last night.” 

“So?”

“I’ve never kissed him before.”

“All these weeks you’ve been together and you haven’t kissed him?” Sam asked incredulously. He looked doubtful, and also a little confused.

“Last night was also the first time we had sex.” Castiel could feel warmth sweeping up his neck, a hot blush working into his cheeks as he made this private confession to Sam.

“Uhm, right,” Sam said, a knowing, but doubtful smile on his face, which annoyed Castiel, since he was telling the truth and it was incredibly embarrassing. “And what does all this have to do with the sleeping bag on the floor?”

“That’s punishment,” Castiel said simply, as though this were obvious. “I don’t deserve to sleep on a bed.”

Sam’s mouth gaped for a moment, unable to find words. His brow furrowed, with confusion, and now a sort of worry and concern. He stared at Castiel, trying to put the pieces together in his head, so that they made some sort of sense.

“Wait, so you have sex and then he makes you sleep on the floor? That’s twisted,” Sam said, and Castiel could hear the beginning of outrage in his voice. But he shook his head.

“I told you, last night was the first time we had sex.”

“Cas, the walls are thin in these motels. I’ve heard you. It’s not a big secret.”

“We weren’t having sex…” Castiel said, and then hesitated. He took a deep breath and it shuddered through his chest. “That was also punishment.”

The words clicked almost immediately, and Sam’s eyes went wide with shock.

“Dean’s torturing you?” Sam asked in a low, dark voice, his eyes brimming with worry. It was then Castiel’s turn to widen his eyes with shock.

“No! He wouldn’t do that,” Castiel insisted quickly, though in his mind he wasn’t so sure if Dean wouldn’t, so much as he hadn’t. Yet. Perhaps if Castiel made him angry enough someday, he would. He knew deep down he worried about that, but he pushed the thought away.

“He doesn’t torture me. He just… it’s…” Castiel stuttered, and his cheeks warmed up again as embarrassment flooded him. He knew what Dean did to him wasn’t normal. He knew what kind of connotations came with adults spanking each other. Dean’s punishment was meant to humiliate and humble Castiel, and he had chosen it well.

“He… he spanks me…” Castiel muttered, sinking low in his chair and keeping his eyes glued to the floor. There was no way he was going to tell Sam the full details, how the spanking had actually changed over to cock whipping several weeks ago, and how that had even transmuted into something else, even more perverse. The main idea was that Dean was humiliating him, not hurting him. Not much.

“That’s… are you… are you joking?” Sam asked, running his hands roughly through his hair, overwhelmed by the information he was getting. He, too, looked a little red in the cheeks, no doubt imagining it, and feeling embarrassed for Castiel as well.

“It’s not a joke. Dean takes it very seriously. You weren’t supposed to find out.”

“No shit! This ends today,” Sam said, full of righteous fury, so like the Sam of old that Castiel hadn’t seen in such a long time, and that righteousness had certainly never been directed toward him. Though now, he thought it was unfounded. Perhaps even overzealous.

“Why?” he asked, confused by Sam’s stance on the matter.

“Why?” Sam repeated, incredulous. “Cas, what Dean’s doing? It isn’t normal. People don’t do that to each other.”

“I’m not stupid, Sam,” Castiel said, surprised by the sudden anger in his own voice, tired of being treated like an idiot by everyone around him when he was millions of years old. “Dean and I are also not normal. Our… agreement,” Castiel settled on the word with dissatisfaction. “Reflects that. I understand that you are perturbed by what your brother is doing, but you should know I don’t disagree with him. I deserve punishment.”

“You don’t deserve this,” Sam said, gesturing vaguely around the room. Castiel noted that Sam hadn’t said he didn’t deserve punishment, just not the kind Dean was dishing out.

“Then what do I deserve? How would you like to punish me, so that I may earn your complete forgiveness?”

“It takes time to earn forgiveness, especially after what you did. I don’t want to punish you,” Sam said, his own anger rising.

“You may not want to, but you do. Once we were friends. I could confide in you, and ask you for advice and help. But you shut me out. That was your punishment, and it hurt more than what Dean does with me. He at least is direct. He at least speaks to me, and instructs me, and tells me what to do to make amends.”

“So, you want me to beat the hell out of you, too?” Sam snapped.

“Do you want to beat me? You can. I find there is very little I wouldn’t do if Dean asked me. You are probably the same. You can ask me to do anything, Sam, and I will, if you think it will lead toward forgiveness.”

“Cas, do you know how fucked up you sound when you say something like that?”

“For millennia, I served and obeyed. In the few years that I did not, look at the result. I nearly destroyed everything. So give me orders. I will follow them. I will do whatever I can to serve.”

Sam’s nostrils flared, anger apparent on his face, but Castiel could tell it wasn’t exactly directed at him. It wasn’t really directed at anything in particular, just the situation in general. There was a warring of emotions there, the old instinct to help a friend, to stop pain, and a new instinct to not trust or care. 

“There’s only one thing I want, and you can’t do it,” Sam said, his voice low as the anger ebbed away slightly. “You broke the wall in my head. You let Lucifer in. Until he’s gone, I can’t ever forgive you.”

A feeling of defeat washed over Castiel. Already he and Bobby and the Winchesters had done what research they could, but had found no way to expel Lucifer from Sam’s consciousness. No psychics would touch him. No spells could expel the madness. No healers had the power. All their research had led to a dead end.

So this was Castiel’s future. One brother who was unwilling to forgive Castiel, his guilt overriding his desire, and the other incapable of it with the constant reminder of Castiel’s betrayal in his head.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel had not been badly hurt since the leviathans ripped their way out of his body and left him for dead in the reservoir. He’d gotten cuts and bruises since then, and stubbed his toe once, a surprising pain that left tears in his eyes and Dean laughing at him. And of course, Dean’s punishment hurt as well, but not in the same way as an injury.

But now Castiel was injured again, quite badly, and he was a little afraid that he might die. Or really, more afraid that he wouldn’t die and that the pain would continue, and the dizziness, and nausea roiling in his belly, making him want to vomit each time the Impala hit a bump or turned a corner too sharply.

Sam was sitting in the back seat with him, putting pressure on the freely bleeding wounds on his arm. He was speaking to Castiel, but Castiel wasn’t really sure what he was saying. Something about blood loss and shock. Dean was also yelling. Castiel couldn’t make out any of his words, just the sound of panic in his voice.

It had started with a routine hunt. The brothers came across a vampire nest hunting in a rural college town. It was a small nest, with only four vampires in it. Castiel was waiting by the car, a machete in hand, though he doubted his ability to use it. They’d told him to be ready in case they had to run. They’d also told him to go to Bobby’s house if they didn’t return in an hour. They said that sometimes, and it always made Castiel worry.

The Winchesters had miscounted though, and as they slaughtered the vampires in the house, a fifth vampire crept out of the trees, and was on Castiel before he could even let off a yell. The machete fell uselessly from his hands as the vampire threw him to the ground. Castiel threw up his arm in defense against the rows of shark-like teeth going for his neck, and was rewarded with the teeth sinking into the meat of his arm, and then tearing, taking a chunk out. 

Castiel screamed as he was showered in his own blood. The pain was blinding and disorienting, and his body went limp, giving the vampire free reign to bite into the flesh of his arm again, into the bend of his elbow to feed off the vein there. 

A thick, dizzy cloud filled Castiel’s head as the blood flowed out of his body, sucked out into the monster’s mouth. With his one good arm, he pushed at the vampire sitting on him, but the vampire pushed his arm away violently, and Castiel heard a sharp crack. He couldn’t move his arm anymore. His whole body felt heavy, limp, and weak as the blood drained out of him. His vision started to blacken, spots popping up and spreading wide across his vision.

“Cas!” 

Someone was shouting his name, but he wasn’t sure who. The vampire’s mouth was full of him. There was another sudden splatter of blood as the vampire’s head was sliced off, and then it fell heavily against his arm. The vampire slumped against his chest, bleeding copiously. Some of that blood was surely Castiel’s own. His name was shouted several more times.

He was jerked up right and his whole head spun, the nausea swimming up into his throat, so that he almost vomited. His arm was being handled quickly, but delicately. There was pressure on it. A flash of blue and green patterned cloth. Checkered.

His other arm was moved and he howled with pain, his vision blacking out for a moment. When it came back, he was in the car. Sam was beside him. Dean was driving the car much too fast. One arm, the one he now realized was broken, was tied against his chest. The other was wrapped up tightly in what he thought was Dean’s shirt. It had been blue and green before. Now it was a deep, dark red.

The Impala lurched to a stop, and Castiel just barely prevented himself from vomiting in the backseat. Dean wouldn’t like that. He was led out of the car, and rushed through a brightly lit parking lot, into a pristine clean building. Castiel looked around dizzily, as people rushed up to them. It wasn’t the motel.

His mind clicked around, trying to recall. He hadn’t been in a place like this often, so he only slowly realized that the Winchesters had taken him to a hospital. The thought made his head swim. They only went to hospitals when it was very serious. He wondered again if he would die.

Sam was talking hurriedly while people were grabbing Castiel. He was pushed down, and suddenly he was lying on a bed. He heard Sam say something about an ‘animal attack.’ Castiel wanted to snort. Yes, an animal of a sort. One that fed on humans. And fallen, broken angels.

The bed, the gurney, moved along at a fast pace, the lights overhead streaming past, making his head hurt. He could still see Dean and Sam, the marring looks of worry and concern on their faces. There was so much talking, so much jargon he hadn’t learned yet, he had a hard time keeping up.

He heard and felt the bump of the gurney against a set of doors, saw them swing open in his periphery, heard a woman’s voice, strident and in command.

“You have to wait here.”

And then the Winchesters were gone, which was OK, because that’s when Castiel passed out.

~

Castiel’s right arm was broken, but it was a clean break and it would heal nicely with no complications. His left arm was torn to shreds. There was a big chunk missing in his forearm, below the elbow, and another serrated gash inside the bend of his elbow. He needed 23 stitches, and they worried there would be some nerve damage. Dean carefully showed Castiel the rehabilitation exercises he would have to do, maybe for the rest of his life.

Dean told Castiel all of this a few days after his release from the hospital, after he was back with the Winchesters, and not doped up on pain killers. They were much better pain killers than the aspirin Bobby had lying around after Castiel was recuperating from the leviathans. They left him foggy and sleepy, barely able to respond to Sam and Dean when they spoke to him, and leaving them to feed him liquid based foods, so he wouldn’t even have to bother chewing.

The first day after Castiel returned from the hospital, he was laid out on one of the motel beds, buried in piles of blankets and pillows to make him comfortable, and left half-asleep in a drug induced haze. The two brothers were talking in hushed tones at the foot of his bed, not wanting to wake him up. 

“I’ll stay here tonight, in case anything happens with him,” Sam said, looking over at Castiel who was murmuring and sighing happily in his barely conscious state.

“That’s OK. I can keep an eye on him. You should go get some sleep in your room.”

Sam gave Dean a look, a sort of glare, one that he wanted Dean to understand, but the older brother had missed a few of the details. He shrugged at Sam, not understanding his look.

“I’m not going to leave him alone in here with you. Not with the way he is,” Sam said, his voice gruff and disdainful. 

“Why not?”

“I know what you do with him. About the punishment.”

Dean’s entire body went rigid, and he pursed his lips with annoyance. He figured Sam would find out eventually, was in fact surprised he hadn’t found out sooner. He had tried to prepare for the eventuality, but was never quite sure what he would say about it. Best to just skip over the whole conversation.

“I’m not going to punish him when he’s hurt. I’m not a monster,” Dean said, a level of disdain in his own voice, offended by Sam’s assumption.

“But you’ll punish him again when he’s better,” Sam said. 

Dean just shrugged in response, a frown firm on his face. He didn’t punish Castiel often anymore, not more than once a week. There were the hole whippings, but Castiel liked those. And sleeping on the floor was more of a habit by now. He’d felt less inclined to punish Castiel of late, preferring instead to take pleasure with the other man, make him cry out in other ways that stirred his blood hot. The spanking and whipping had been the excuse before, but Dean had found it easier and easier to discard the formality and just take what he wanted. Which apparently, Castiel wanted as well.

“You can’t keep punishing him like that,” Sam insisted when Dean said nothing in return.

“You were the one complaining before. You said I shouldn’t forgive him for what he did to you.”

“That was before. You can’t punish him forever. And after this? He’s only human now, Dean. He can’t do anything to hurt us anymore. You can go easy on him.”

Dean snorted and looked over at Castiel, who was asleep and dreaming, believing himself wrapped up tight and warm in a soft bed, with strong arms, like bands of iron, wrapped around his chest, holding him close and tight.

~

While recuperating from the second injury, Castiel was much happier than when he had been at Bobby’s. Part of that might have been the excellent pain killers, though Dean was oddly stingy with them, following the usage directions strictly. He muttered something about ‘addictive personality’ as he doled out Castiel’s pills, individually each time, and then hid the bottle somewhere. Castiel might have wondered about that, but he was still a little foggy.

He was also allowed to sleep in a bed each night, and really, for most of the day that first week, a little too loopy to be trusted walking around, and urged to sleep, to let his body rest and heal. It was odd at first, seeing the Winchesters move around him, taking care of him, when before, it had been the opposite, with him running errands, making their lives easier. He nestled down into the pile of pillows, getting comfortable.

Strangest of all was when Sam offered to have Castiel sleep in his room, instead of with Dean. He could see Dean scowling in the background, but pointedly not looking at either of them. Something was going on, this offer meant something, but he wasn’t sure what it was, still unable to read all of the body language, and secret shared looks of communication that the Winchesters had honed over the years. He thanked Sam for the offer, but declined, saying he was comfortable in Dean’s room. 

They stayed put for a week, just to make sure Castiel was able to handle transit, but then they were on the road again, hunting, digging up information on Dick Roman and the other leviathans. When they travelled, Castiel was laid out in the back seat, both arms carefully cushioned. At the motels, he was set up on a bed, with a laptop at hand. If it didn’t hurt too much, he did research.

Just once, he suggested going to stay with Bobby while he recuperated, so he wouldn’t be any trouble. Sam was about to say something, but Dean cut him off.

“It’s too far out of our way.”

There was that sketchy look in Dean’s eye, where he wouldn’t look at anyone. When his words were quick, and to the point, spat out with authority. It was the way he spoke when he was saying one thing, but it meant another. Castiel smiled slightly to himself.

Castiel healed quickly, but not so much that people would comment. When his stitches came out, at a hospital in Wyoming, everyone was pleased that there was no infection, and that the scarring wouldn’t be so bad. Castiel could flex his arm exceptionally well, and there was only a slight tingle, and a numbness around the wound itself. 

After Dean fell asleep each night, Castiel turned to the book Nora had given him, on Wiccan magic, meditation, and positive energy. He remembered how he felt when he could heal himself as an angel, and focused that into his arms while he did the small exercises the doctors had recommended. He doubted it had much affect, but when he spoke to Nora on the phone, in secret, while Dean was out, she praised his progress, insisted it was his own doing. She sent him another book to be picked up in a P.O. Box in the next town they were hunting in. This one had more on healing with the mind, and Castiel devoured every word, fascinated by the theory.

The whole time he was recuperating, Castiel was given no orders or jobs, and he was given no punishment. He was glad for the reprieve, because his arms often hurt too much for him to concentrate, but he also hated the tenseness between Dean and himself. It had been tense since the night they had sex, and the aborted kiss, but now it was different. Dean wouldn’t quite look at him, wouldn’t speak to him much outside of job details, and conversations about his injuries. Sam was much the same way, though he expected that from Sam.

There was no hatred in Dean, not even a sense of dislike, but a wariness when he was near Castiel. When Castiel tried to call him out on it, Dean brushed it off. Castiel could do nothing but assume it had to do with his injury. He was eager to be able to work again, so Dean would find him useful once more.

But when his cast came off and he no longer needed the pain pills, still, Dean urged him to take it easy. Still he was allowed to sleep in the soft bed next to Dean’s. Still he was given no orders or jobs. Even when he asked for something to do, he was gently turned down. Dean had called him useless in the past, and he’d felt it unfair, but now he felt like he had to agree as he lounged around their motel rooms.

“Do you want me to get lunch?” Castiel asked one day. It was well past 1 pm, and breakfast had been hours ago. Dean was entrenched in research, pouring over files Frank had sent them about Richard Roman Enterprises, trying to make sense of the sea of information, most of which he didn’t even want, but Frank sent anyway.

“Gimme a minute. I’ll go get it,” Dean said, not quite looking away from his computer.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly, his voice low, as if he didn’t want to disturb Dean. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Leave? What? No. Why would I want you to leave?”

“You never ask anything of me anymore. No research, no errands, no tasks, not even… you don’t even ask for…that…” Castiel said the last with a bit of a blush, embarrassed that he couldn’t come out and say the words.

“You’re injured,” Dean said gruffly, and turned back to his computer.

“I was injured. I’m fine now. The doctors said,” and Castiel showed his arms for extra proof, showing where his skin was pink and fresh, still ugly, but healed. “I can start helping again.”

“Fine,” Dean said after a long, grudging pause. “Then I’ll show you how to shoot. ‘Bout time you learned how to hunt properly.”

Castiel’s heart skipped a beat, welling with surprise and happiness. He never thought the day would come. In fact, he couldn’t believe it at all, and that led to just a touch of doubt, and he couldn’t leave it alone. He had to satisfy it.

“Then you’ve forgiven me?” he asked quietly, the doubt making his voice tremble slightly.

“Yeah,” Dean said, but his eyes darted away.

Castiel was glad he’d let the doubt in. That he hadn’t given in to the hope again. His heart didn’t have far to fall this time from the disappointment. He hadn’t let it climb so high. 

“It’s like you don’t want to forgive me,” Castiel said flatly, making Dean look at him with surprise. “You won’t let me make amends, and when you were about to forgive me, the night we had sex… you pulled away again.”

“You hurt me. And Sam. How can I forgive you?”

“Hurt me back. Control me, humiliate me, punish me. I want you to.” Castiel added that last part quietly, desperately. The pain and humiliation were worth it when it was Dean bringing it to him. When there was the hope, that someday, Dean would forgive him. When he had fully redeemed himself to the hunter. 

“You’re all kinds of twisted up because of me,” Dean said with a self-deprecating smile. “It wasn’t right what I was doing.” 

“I could have left at any time. Bobby would have taken me in… but you don’t want that,” Castiel said, remembering the times when he could have stayed with Bobby. When Bobby offered, and when Sam almost suggested it. Each time, Dean had said no. He wanted Castiel around.

“Why do you want me here, Dean? To forgive me, or to not forgive me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then forgive me,” Castiel said, his voice sharp, almost a command.

“I can’t.”

“Then punish me!” Castiel said, and that was a command. “Every time you punished me. Every time I sucked you off, and when we had sex. I could feel it, Dean. Every time, a little more, you’d forgive me. And when I kissed you… I could taste it, and you were almost there, and now, I don’t know what you want me to do… I don’t know why you don’t want to forgive me, after I’ve done everything, everything, you ever asked me to do…”

Castiel’s words were a rush tumble out of his mouth, sharp and commanding, but spilling from his lips like water. He was so lost in the words themselves, lost in the depths of Dean’s green eyes as he made his case, that he barely noticed as he slid out of his chair, onto his knees, and crawled toward Dean.

“You like being punished so much, Cas?” Dean asked, his own voice hoarse. He wasn’t looking at Castiel, his eyes darting around the room, not wanting to meet Castiel’s gaze. Castiel swelled with pride. He knew the effect he had on Dean, the learned response he had to seeing Castiel on his knees.

“I hate being punished,” Castiel said, his tone still firm and clear. “I hate when you whip my cock. But I want it. I want your punishment. I need it. You have to show me what you want, or I’ll never learn.”

There was a moment, a hesitation, which Castiel could feel in the muscles of Dean’s legs, but then Dean’s hand slid into Castiel’s hair and he tugged it gently, affectionately. Castiel allowed himself a small murmur of pleasure and let his eyes slide shut.

“You really want me to punish you? You wanna get whipped when you’re bad?”

“You can whip me every night if you want. You don’t need an excuse.”

Castiel heard Dean release a heavy breath, a shaky almost moan when he heard Castiel’s offer. Castiel wondered if the man was getting aroused, but had his eyes turned away from his groin, up toward Dean’s face to watch him.

“I’ll only whip you when you’re very bad,” he said finally, with some effort. It was a dark promise that sent a shiver down Castiel’s spine. 

“What’s very bad?” Castiel asked. This time, he wanted to know the rules ahead of time, to avoid those capricious, unexpected punishments. He wanted to follow, and obey, and be good for Dean.

“Lying,” Dean said immediately, that still being a fresh wound from Castiel’s past life. “Disobeying an order. Not doing your chores. Sleeping on a bed maybe…”

Castiel made a small sound of disapproval at the last rule, having gotten so used to the beds he was allowed to sleep in, but he did not voice a protest. It was punishment after all. And that hesitant ‘maybe’ sounded promising. Perhaps it meant maybe, he could sleep in a bed, and maybe, not alone.

“What about after the punishment?” Castiel asked, lifting his big blue eyes up to Dean’s green, but keeping his chin on the man’s knee.

Dean reached out and caressed Castiel’s cheek, sliding his thumb over the man’s soft, pink lips. “We don’t have to do that… if you don’t want,” Dean said, and Castiel could see the strain in his eyes as he said it, as usual, saying one thing, but meaning another. Saying what he thought the other person wanted to hear, and not what he really wanted himself.

“How else will I know I’ve been forgiven?” Castiel asked. He took Dean’s thumb into his mouth, suckled it gently for a moment, to remind Dean what he could do with his mouth, that Dean had not enjoyed in several weeks. But he then bit the pad of his thumb, not too gently.

“Ow,” Dean said softly, tugging his thumb away. “No biting, either.”

“You’d better punish me then.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Tell me how you’re doing with dream walking,” Nora said over the phone. 

“It’s very frustrating. I can’t help but compare it to when I was an angel,” Castiel said. He was stretched out on Dean’s bed in the motel room. The reception was better near the window. He had his spell books, and his own notes, spread out in front of him, books he kept secreted away in the bottom of his duffel bag, wrapped up in dirty laundry.

He knew, deep down, that this secret of his would absolutely be considered lying by Dean. That the man would be furious if he found out Castiel was keeping this from him. But he rationalized that it was meant to be a surprise, a gift for Dean, so Castiel kept it that way. He would tell him, as soon as he had something to show for it, something he could give to them that would help.

His notes were a jumble of ideas and theories, about healing, demon wards, exorcisms, protective spells, and anything else he thought might be useful to a hunter. The brothers dabbled in magics sometimes, using spells that just needed reading and ingredients, but they didn’t have the talent for it. When they really needed a big hitter, they had some friends, like Nora, that they could turn to. After Castiel’s miserable shooting lessons with Dean, which he felt should have earned him a good whipping, his resolve was strengthened to hone this other talent, which they lacked.

“I don’t suppose you have any more theories about Sam?” Castiel asked, sounding less than hopeful. He had an entire notebook dedicated to the problem of Sam and how to get Lucifer out of his head. He had theories about restructuring the wall, erasing Sam’s memories, forcing the madness to manifest physically so they could fight it, and a long list of potentially healing herbs, but nothing fit, or they were well beyond his abilities and expertise.

“Nothing better than your own theories. You really should take a chance with them,” Nora said, her voice encouraging and full of pride in Castiel. Castiel liked that. He was certain, that if he could still see it, her soul would be pure and clean. 

The two exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then hung up. Castiel lingered with his notes for a little while longer, and then packed them up, tight and hidden, deep in his bag, before he went back to research.

The one theory that kept pushing at his mind was forefront in his thoughts. It was a simple idea, one of the first Nora had taught him, but it was a different angle than their other theories. He was fairly certain it would work, but was reluctant to try it, because it would require Sam’s complicity in the matter, which would mean he would find out.

Castiel wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal it yet, when he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want to get Sam’s hopes up, and then have it fail. He was afraid Sam would hate him again, and he couldn’t have that after they’d made so much progress.

~

Castiel deliberately provoked Dean sometimes. It was the only way in their twisted, bizarre relationship that either of them could ask for sex. Sometimes, Castiel would break a rule. Sometimes, Dean would call out a minor fault. It worked like a game they played so they could both get what they wanted.

“Dean,” Castiel often said, “I bought you a pie from the store.”

“Really?” Dean asked, unsurprised.

“No. I lied,” Castiel said, and he’d already be working his belt off, and undoing the buttons of his pants while Dean stood up, looking menacing, and reaching for the crop.

Castiel still hated it. He’d thought he would get used to it, start to get off on it, like he had the spanking. He’d seen videos of men who loved having their cock and balls whipped, pinched, pulled and stepped on, usually by beautiful women in leather, but his cock was stubbornly disinterested in it, remaining small and soft as Dean whipped him.

But he did it for Dean. He offered himself up for the man, giving into his tears freely as the pain stung between his legs, because Dean loved his tears. Loved to lick them away when he was done, and Castiel would lean up into those almost kisses, that never touched his lips, and would moan, pleading for more.

The more was what they were both after. The punishment was a preamble, to assuage Dean’s guilt, to free him of the pressure of forgiveness. Afterwards, he had no compunction about taking pleasure with Castiel. 

“Let’s try something new tonight,” Dean said, fingering the crop as he stood over Castiel, who was lying naked on the bed, his legs spread wide to give Dean easy access. Castiel shivered with anticipation. ‘Something new,’ was usually good. Dean had a lot more experience than he did in matters of the flesh and sex. He had a lot of practice over the years, and delighted in showing Castiel all the ways he could feel good.

“It’s a game,” Dean said, a too-pleased smile on his face as he ran the crop feather light down Castiel’s chest. “I’m going to whip you all over, and if you start to get hard, I’ll whip your cock. Sound fun?”

“No,” Castiel said petulantly. 

“Too bad,” Dean said, still looking pleased, and then he let the crop fall on Castiel’s mouth, smacking his lips a little off center. Castiel flinched, having the crop so close to his face, but it hadn’t hurt much. Dean hadn’t struck so hard.

“Good? Bad?” Dean asked, the crop poised in his hand.

“Not sure. It was strange.”

Dean whipped Castiel’s mouth a few more times, still that very light tap of the crop, and then looked at him questioningly again. Castiel just shrugged. Having his mouth whipped didn’t seem to do much for him. Dean shrugged in return, and moved the crop lower. 

The sting of it against his nipples however, which he’d never thought of as sensitive before, sent heat to his groin, and he gasped out loud at the first strike. Then Dean switched the crop, back and forth between each nipple, quick and hard, making Castiel squirm on the bed, trying to escape.

And then the sharp, cutting pain on his cock that made him shout. The stirring between his legs cooled instantly, and his cock shrank back. Dean grinned at him, looking victorious. Castiel just whimpered quietly.

Dean worked the crop down his sides, playing it along his ribs, and into his navel. It didn’t feel bad, but Castiel was careful not to let the sensation take control again, and bit his lip furiously while he thought about cleaning guns.

The crop worked around his hips, which made him gasp as they hit an oddly sensitive and ticklish spot, but when Dean didn’t get the response he wanted, he moved to Castiel’s thighs, ordering him to spread his legs so he could get the insides of his thighs pink. Castiel cursed at his traitorous cock as it started showing its interest, and caught Dean’s eye.

It took a few more sharp smacks to get his erection to wilt again, and the tears stung in Castiel’s eyes as he cried out.

“Dean,” he whined, his voice a little jagged from the strain already. 

“Hush. We just got started.”

Dean chuckled as he worked his way down Castiel’s legs, getting the backs of his knees, and his calves, but not the desired, forbidden reaction he wanted. It wasn’t until he got to Castiel’s feet, to the soles, that he got a reaction he liked. He gave Castiel one hard smack, and Castiel cried out and jerked his foot away, out of Dean’s reach. He knew his mistake as soon as he made it.

“Sorry… it hurt… Dean…”

“Definitely no flinching allowed,” Dean asserted, and the crop came down between Castiel’s legs once more, smacking his soft cock for punishment. 

When Dean was done, little pink welts were left all over Castiel’s body. Dean found that whipping his nipples, thighs, and pretty much anywhere on his back, would get Castiel hard. Other spots certainly excited him, and he’d use it in the future to torment Castiel in some fashion. Castiel was just happy that Dean had finished off with a quick whipping of his ass, and didn’t whip his erection afterwards, leaving him hard and straining, and waiting for what happened after punishment.

Usually, Dean’s fingers would seek between Castiel’s cheeks, spreading him open to make him loose. Or maybe, Castiel would be ordered to sit up and suck Dean off while he stroked himself. However, this particular night, Dean did something he’d never done before. Slowly, keeping his eyes locked with Castiel’s, he bent down over the former angel’s groin, opened his mouth, and sucked the tip of Castiel’s cock into his mouth.

Castiel let out a long moan, and almost came instantly. But he drew a shaky breath and held it back. He curled in on himself, over Dean’s head as it bobbed between his legs and gave into his urge to slide his fingers into the man’s hair. He wanted to pull and tug, like Dean did with him, but held back, afraid Dean wouldn’t like it, and then he would stop.

Castiel didn’t want this to ever stop.

Dean worked his way down Castiel’s cock, sucking and licking, and making lewd noises that made Castiel lose his breath. He’d often wondered what it would be like to feel this, after months of doing the favor for Dean. He’d imagined it often, in his sleeping bag, or in the shower when he had a few extra minutes. But none of his imaginings compared to the feeling of Dean’s hot mouth, and his wicked tongue, which toyed at the slit of Castiel’s cock, and pressed eagerly along the thick, throbbing vein. 

Compared to his own hand, Dean’s mouth was so soft, and Castiel had to admit with some embarrassment, much better at wreaking pleasure over his skin than he himself was. He always felt so clumsy touching himself, driving himself blindly toward pleasure, while Dean’s mouth was pleasure in and of itself.

Castiel couldn’t help himself, and though he wanted the experience to last much longer, he couldn’t hold out, and soon felt his orgasm cresting. He moaned out a small warning to Dean, a little noise that creaked out of his mouth before he was shooting, his come flooding into Dean’s mouth. Castiel was surprised that the man didn’t pull away, and flushed hot when he saw his throat working, gulping down all Castiel had to offer until the last pulse faded, and Castiel softened in his mouth.

Dean pulled away slowly, and licked his lips, thoughtfully. “Bitter sweet,” he murmured, looking up at Castiel, his eyes hazy. “Tastes like your tears.”

Castiel’s breath hitched, and he wasn’t sure what to say. An awkward “Thank you,” tumbled from his lips, and Dean laughed at him.

“Dude, you don’t have to say thank you for a blow job. Makes it weird. What you could do though, is turn over for me,” Dean said, and his lips quirked up into a lusty grin as he started undoing the button of his jeans, just below which, his cock bulged obscenely. 

Castiel felt heat surge down to his groin again, urging him toward hardness very quickly at just the sight of Dean starting to undress, and asking him for more. He didn’t hesitate much longer, and rolled onto his belly, spreading his legs, again, to give Dean better access.

Later that night, after they were finished, and Castiel had showered, he lingered at the foot of Dean’s bed, eying the bed, and his sleeping bag, which was rolled out on the floor. He turned his eyes to Dean, who was just starting to sit up, to take a shower himself. There was a silent question in Castiel’s eyes, and Dean looked away and brushed passed him into the shower. 

“Not yet,” he murmured and shut the door.

Castiel considered for a moment climbing into Dean’s bed anyway, and wondered what would happen. Would Dean give in and just let him sleep there? Would there be an argument and more whippings? Or would he just climb into the other bed and avoid the whole topic? He decided he didn’t want to know and compromised by stealing a pillow from Dean’s bed, which smelled of Dean, and sex, and curled up with that in his sleeping bag.

~

Sam was getting worse, despite his best efforts. The pain from the scar on his hand was only able to keep Lucifer at bay for so long, and he could hardly press his hand while he was sleeping, which was when the hallucinations seemed to enjoy bothering him the most. It left him groggy and sleep deprived almost constantly, which was a less than an ideal mental state to fend off madness. It was even worse when he was on a hunt and needed to be at his very best to keep himself and Dean alive.

Sam was drinking coffee like water, downing four to five cups before lunch time, just to stave off his exhaustion. Dean worried Sam would make a mistake while they were hunting and get one of them killed. Castiel worried that Sam would keel over and die from the lack of sleep.

With growing concern, Castiel called Nora, asking for advice. She told him exactly what he thought she would say, and exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Castiel,” she said, in what Castiel learned was considered a ‘mom voice,’ and was beginning to understand why children obeyed their parents. “You have a friend who might die, and you won’t do anything because you’re afraid he’ll be angry? Which is worse, dead or angry?”

“You’ve no idea what I’ve done, Nora. I can’t afford to lose them again.”

“Did you know I own a TV? And that occasionally, I watch the news? I know what you did. I know what you were, what you thought you were. And after all of that, Dean and Sam still took you in. Yes, they’re going to be angry that you kept a secret. Seems to be a big thing between you three, but when they see what you can do, how can they do anything but forgive you?”

Castiel sighed, but deep down, he agreed with Nora. Even if Dean and Sam were angry, even if they tossed him aside, he knew it would be worth it if Sam was healed. It was a promise he meant to keep. So he hung up with Nora, gathered his notebooks, with his finalized theory for Sam, and went to his motel room.

Sam looked terrible when he opened the door for Castiel. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face looked pained. Occasionally, he would flinch, for no apparent reason, and level a glare off in a random direction in the room. Castiel could only imagine what sort of torment his mind was creating in the guise of Lucifer. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Castiel said quietly, as he slipped into the room as unobtrusively as possible.

“No, Lucifer’s got a handle on that,” Sam said wearily. A smile cracked his lips, but faded quickly, and then turned into a hard, jaw-popping yawn. “Did you need something?”

“No, actually. I have something for you,” Castiel said. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he held out his notebook, open on the page with his notes about Sam’s condition. “I think this might help you with Lucifer. Though, I’m not sure. I haven’t been able to test it.”

Sam’s eyes widened slightly, hope sparking around the corners, though dimly, either because he’d given up all hope, or else he was just too tired to gather up the energy to let it flow through. Still, he took the book from Castiel’s hands, almost snatching it, and started flipping through the pages intently. 

“Any attempts to heal the madness, or get it out of you haven’t worked. We just don’t have the power for that. But I was thinking about what you did after I… after I broke your wall,” Castiel said guiltily. “You shouldn’t have been able to put yourself together again. Certainly not that quickly. So I thought, mentally, you’re very strong, so why not make it stronger? Fight the problem from the inside, rather than from without.”

“It’s a meditation technique,” Sam said, his nose still buried in the book, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, but also a hint of hope.

“Meditation induced dream walking. While inside your head, you can fend off the madness, build walls, fight Lucifer almost physically. Once you’re in full control of your mind, the hallucinations should disappear,” Castiel said, emphasizing the word ‘should’ carefully. 

“It’s so simple, no wonder we never thought of it,” Sam murmured, already mouthing the incantation to bring about the altered state of consciousness. Likely, he was also taking a mental catalogue of the herbs they had on hand.

“It’s not a quick fix though. You’ll get better slowly, and you need to keep doing it… maybe for the rest of your life,” Castiel added cautiously. He’d wanted to snap his fingers and heal Sam instantly, but it was beyond his or any other human’s ability. All he could manage was this rehabilitation for Sam’s mind. It meant slow, hard work, but he was certain Sam could do it.

“Or until we find something else. If this can help me sleep tonight, then we’re already a step ahead again,” Sam said, and he finally looked up from the book, a smile on his lips, which reached up to his eyes and made them sparkle. Castiel felt the emotion pass through him, and it made his heart skip a beat, caught off guard from the intensity of that feeling from Sam. 

“Where’d you find this spell, anyway?” Sam asked.

Castiel sighed. He’d hoped this wouldn’t come up. That Sam would just be grateful and accept it, perhaps throw him out in order to give the spell a try without asking any questions. But Castiel was determined not to lie, when asked directly. Besides, Nora had been quite adamant about honesty. It was apparently necessary when practicing Wicca, in order to keep your intent clear and unmuddied.

“I wrote it,” Castiel said meekly, his eyes on the floor. “Nora Havelock helped me with some of the techniques, and sent me some books. But I wrote it. I made it for you.”

“That’s impossible. Not unless you’ve been studying…” Sam started, and then realization hit him, and his brow furrowed. “Damnit, Cas. You’ve been studying magic with Nora?”

“She thinks I have a gift for it… Maybe because I used to be an angel, but I didn’t really believe her. I thought if I could, it would be useful for you and Dean. But I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure I could do it. I didn’t want to get your hopes up and then have it turn out that I had no gift.”

“What else can you do?”

“Not much. I can heal myself a little. Maybe others, though I haven’t tried it. Some dream walking, again, only on myself… Everything else is just theory. I’ve just started.”

“Does Dean know about this?” Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head. “I was planning on telling him about it as soon as we tried out the spell. If it works, and you’re better, maybe he won’t be so angry,” Castiel said, meekly, turning hopeful eyes toward Sam to help him in this regard.

“If we try this now, how long before we see the effect?”

“If it works as planned, you should be able to get some sleep tonight. If anything, the exercise itself should exhaust you enough to block out Lucifer.”

Hope flared again in Sam’s eyes, but Castiel saw him trying to tamp it down and look more stern and serious. “No matter what the result, good or bad, we’re telling Dean tomorrow.”

~ 

Sam woke up. Which in and of itself was a miracle. More so, that he woke up about 4 hours later, the longest bout of uninterrupted sleep he’d had in several days. Granted, he was woken up by Lucifer gleefully playing a cat piano, but when he pressed the scar on his hand, the devil didn’t even have time for a pithy complaint before he blinked out of existence. 

Dean noticed the change when he joined Sam at breakfast in a small diner. Oddly, Castiel had begged off, saying he wanted more sleep and that he’d eat later on his own.

“You look… sort of bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning. You actually get some sleep?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, eating eagerly. The lack of sleep and constant drip of coffee had beaten up most of his appetite. “Thanks to Cas. He gave me this spell last night. It kind of works like that dream walking we did a few years ago. It gets me into my own head and lets me work from in there on the crazy. Deep meditative altered reality stuff. It’s exhausting, but I got four hours, and I haven’t had to press my scar in two.”

“That’s… That’s great!” Dean exclaimed unable to hide his exuberance, hope springing in his eyes that his brother would be getting better. “So you’re cured now?”

“Not quite. I’m… making myself less crazy. It’ll take time. But last night was great. I was totally in control of my own head for the first time in ages.”

“Well, this is the best news I’ve heard in a long time, and I didn’t even know Cas was still looking. Where did he find this spell, anyway?”

“He’s kept it pretty close to the chest since he didn’t exactly find it… He kind of wrote it himself,” Sam said as cautiously as he could, hoping to soften the blow.

“He kind of wrote it himself? What does that even mean? He translated it? He kind of made it up and hoped for the best?”

“No,” Sam said, determined to keep cool and calm, hoping Dean would pick up his own behavior. “He’s been studying Wicca since Idaho. Nora’s been teaching him.”

“Wicca?” Dean almost shouted, and got a few looks from around the diner. He lowered his voice again and leveled a glare at his brother. “He’s been studying magic for months, and never told us? How long have you known about this?”

“Just last night,” Sam said, putting his hands up defensively. “He wanted to wait until he had the spell ready for me before he told us. And look, it’s working. I don’t know how he did it, but he wrote a spell to fix me, like he promised he would.”

“Yeah, and lied about it.”

“Because he knew you’d blow up at him. Hell, I probably would have too if I found out a few months ago. But he’s doing it to help us, Dean. You can’t be angry about that.”

“You know what else he did to help us? He swallowed all the souls in purgatory so he could kill Raphael. And you know how that turned out!” Dean was shouting again, and rather than be hushed or thrown out by the diner staff, he stormed out to the parking lot. Sam threw money on the table and rushed out after him.

“So now what? You going back to the motel to beat the hell out of him some more?” Sam asked, chasing after his brother.

“Don’t talk about shit you don’t understand,” Dean growled as he whirled around to face Sam. “I don’t care why, I don’t care how, but he lied to us. Again. Don’t you think he might be keeping other secrets, too?”

“No! You’re acting like he’s trying to destroy the world, when all he’s done is dabble in white magic. To help us,” Sam said, hoping that by just repeating that one basic idea, Dean would accept it, but Dean just shook his head violently and started heading for the car. 

“Dean. Stop. Just cool off for a bit, OK? Don’t go back there pissed to hell and doing something you’ll regret.” Sam reached out to grab Dean’s shoulder, and got punched in the face instead, sending him reeling flat on his ass in the parking lot. Dean stormed off to the car and got it started. Sam was up and after him and pulling at the passenger side door, but it was locked.

“Dean! Unlock the door! I’m not letting you go back there like this!” Sam shouted at the closed window, but Dean acted like he didn’t hear him, and peeled out of the lot, leaving a cloud of dust to spring up around Sam. 

Sam yelled with anger at the stupidity and hot-headedness of his brother, pulling at his own hair with frustration and worry. It was a three mile walk back to the motel, so all he could do was call Castiel and give him at least a little warning.

“Dean’s on his way back to the motel,” Sam said once Castiel picked up, with no other greeting. “He’s really, really pissed, so you might want to get out of there and lie low for awhile.”

“He did not take the news of your cure well?”

“It didn’t matter. Just get out of there. I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

“I understand, Sam. Thank you,” Castiel said, and hung up. But he didn’t move. He’d known Dean would be angry, furious even, despite Sam’s consolations, and had decided he would face that fury, no matter what it entailed.

Dean had been very clear about not lying, and Castiel had agreed to it, even when he already had his secret. He had deliberately disobeyed Dean’s order, and though he had done it with good intentions, well, he knew where good intentions led. He deserved Dean’s punishment, and perhaps a relapse from the progress they had made together. No more pleasure games with the crop. No more tears licked away like a lover would. Castiel sighed, mourning the loss. He would focus on the gains, though, and Sam’s rehabilitation. It would help him weather the storm until Dean’s anger faded, and his forgiveness began again.

Dean stormed into the room a few minutes later, and his expression was much as Castiel had expected. Hurt, anger, betrayal. At first, without his angelic power, without being able to see into Dean’s soul, it had been hard to read human emotions. But with time, and practice, it was becoming so much easier. When Dean was with the people he was close to, his emotions flooded his face, bare and raw, like he was unable to hold them back.

“It stops now,” Dean growled, getting up close to Castiel, well within his personal space, stabbing a finger against his chest. “You burn those books. You cut off ties with Nora. And you never so much as touch a piece of magic again.”

“I was only trying to help,” Castiel said, his voice low, but clear. “I am sorry that I lied to you, but it was necessary to find a cure for Sam.”

“Great! Good job!” Dean said, his voice overloud in the small room, thick with sarcasm and hurt. “You found a cure, and now it stops. No more magic.”

“But I can do so much more, Dean. I can learn to heal. I won’t ever be as powerful as I was as an angel, but I can fix you. Stop the pain. Keep back infection. If you just let me study more, I’ll be stronger.”

“And that’s it, isn’t it?” Dean said with a harsh laugh, though there was no humor in his eyes. “Strength. Power. It’s the same story all over again. You were weaker than Raphael, and now you’re weaker than me. So you need power to fight back.”

Shock widened Castiel’s eyes, and he automatically started shaking his head as understanding dawned on him. Dean’s incredible fury wasn’t the betrayal caused by lying, but the fear of the past, to go through again what had already played out.

“No, no it’s not like that,” Castiel insisted, still shaking his head. “It’s only white magic. You can’t do anything with it,” Castiel added, a little disdainfully. Nora would probably be unhappy with his summation, but it was true. Without the blood, pain, and viscera of darker magics, there was no true power. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to help.”

“Help. That’s how it starts. You just want to help. But what happens when it’s not enough? What do you do when you need more? You can’t be trusted with something like this.”

“Trusted?” Castiel snapped back. “I’m not a child, Dean. I can make decisions on my own.”

“Oh, like you did last year? Opening purgatory and letting leviathan out? Bang up job there!”

“I’ve learned from my mistake. I’m not going to do that again,” Castiel said, and he pushed Dean out of his personal space, so he could walk away. But was shocked when he got shoved back, harder, and slammed up against the wall, his breath knocked out of him for a moment.

“You told me to give you orders,” Dean said, placing his hands on either side of Castiel’s head, boxing him in and towering over him. “You told me to make you obey. Or were you lying about that, too?”

“This is different,” Castiel said, and was about to say more when Dean’s hand slammed into the wall near his head. He flinched, and looked up at Dean, saw his face twisted with strain, and the muscles in his arms tense. He could feel the heat of violence radiating under Dean’s skin, and his heart pulsed in his chest with fear. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Dean asked, and his voice broke a little.

“Punish me if you want,” Castiel offered, making it sound like a challenge. “But I will keep practicing. I will make myself useful again.”

“It’s not enough,” Dean said, and pushed away from the wall, and Castiel. “I’m not going to watch this happen again. I’m not going to be part of it.”

The words rang in Castiel’s ears, but he couldn’t be sure he understood them fully. He watched as Dean drew away from him, and felt a tug at his heart, aching as Dean stepped further from him, wanting to be close again.

“I don’t understand,” he said in a whisper, hating the words in his mouth. He thought he was doing so well, learning so much, but there were still so many things he didn’t understand. He still felt so stupid.

“Just get out,” Dean said, his voice hoarse, but he didn’t look at Castiel. “Go sleep in Sam’s room. I don’t even want to look at you.”

Castiel’s whole body slumped, suddenly slack with confusion and loss. Everything he was, the only place he belonged, was in that room with Dean Winchester. But he took the advice from Sam, that he should have taken sooner, and made himself scarce. He grabbed his duffel bag, not even sure if it was packed or not, and walked to the door. He hesitated a moment, to wait and see if Dean would call for him. Call him back to apologize, or yell some more, or punish him. Anything would be fine. But Dean stayed silent, his back still turned to Castiel. 

As soon as Castiel left the room, he was lost. He stood dumbly outside the door of the motel room, just a few feet away from what he wanted, his duffel bag hanging limply from his hand. He might have stood there until Dean came out, bumping into him, if Sam hadn’t jogged into the parking lot, covered in road dust and sweat, and panting from his run back from the diner.

“What happened?” Sam asked, but looking Castiel up and down, dejected and alone, with his duffel in his hand, the question didn’t really need an answer. Sam leveled a glare at Dean’s door, considering going in for a moment, but instead, wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulder and herded him into his own room.

Sam tried several times during the course of the day to get Castiel to talk, or really, respond in any fashion, but the man just sat on the bed, staring at the floor, almost as motionless as he had been when he was an angel.

Later in the day, there was a knock on Sam’s door. It was Dean collecting him for work that needed to be done. His eyes never even passed over Castiel, did not acknowledge him in any fashion, even when Sam made hinting noises, and pointedly looked at Castiel. Dean ignored the hints and went to wait in the car. Sam made apologies, promised he’d return soon, told Castiel to just wait for him. And then he was gone.

Castiel wondered idly what the brothers would speak of. Sam would bring it up, try to talk about it. Dean would probably shut him out, his anger too new and righteous to be broken through with Sam’s reason. He imagined the conversation to be short, heated, and resulting in nothing changed.

~

When Sam got back that night, Castiel was gone. He took a quick look around the room, noticing that Castiel’s bag was gone as well, and went to Dean’s room. Dean was standing at the foot of his bed, holding Castiel’s cell phone, with worry lines creasing his brow.

“Damn it, Dean. What the Hell did you say to him?” Sam demanded.

“I told him to get out,” Dean said numbly. “But I just meant the room. I didn’t mean for him to run off.”

“Good job. Tell the literal minded former angel to get out. You really are a dumb ass sometimes. We need to go find him.”

“How?” Dean waved Castiel’s phone in the air. “Can’t track his GPS. He doesn’t have any credit cards. We could get a bloodhound, if he’d left any of his clothes behind.”

“We could let it sniff the bed where Cas sleeps- Oh wait, he doesn’t get to sleep in a bed.”

Both brothers glared at each other hotly, angry with the other, and worried about Castiel.

“You know honestly, there’s only one place he’d go,” Dean said.

Sam considered that for a moment and then nodded. He pulled out his phone and called Bobby, giving him the barest details, that Castiel was upset about something that Dean did (Bobby was unsurprised) and had run off. They assumed he’d head toward Bobby, but it would take him a day or two, even if he bought a bus ticket. Bobby said he’d let them know if Castiel showed up.

“So, now what? Just wait around until we hear from Bobby?” Dean said, pacing anxiously.

“We can look around town. Maybe he didn’t get very far.”

“I’ll take a look around. Give Nora a call, too. He might turn to her,” Dean said, and stepped out of the motel. But though he drove all over town, checking restaurants and the bus station, he didn’t see Castiel anywhere, and returned to the motel in a foul mood.

The Winchesters waited out in the motel for three days. More than enough time for Castiel to reach Bobby’s, but apparently that wasn’t the way he was heading. And Nora hadn’t heard from him either.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Sam said, as he was packing up his bag. “We have to keep moving. We’ve gotta get Dick. Cas’ll turn up. When he’s ready. I’m sure of it.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but he grudgingly packed up his bag and loaded it into the car.


	8. Chapter 8

Things get surprisingly hectic when the world is in danger and the human race is, as usual, fairly oblivious to the numerous big bad things that were trying to kill and/or eat them. Sam and Dean usually find themselves just in the thick of it, being very fond of the earth, its people, and double bacon cheeseburgers.

Though Castiel had completely disappeared, the brothers had little time to look for him. They had other things to worry about, like Meg popping back into their lives and begging for an alliance to keep her safe from Crowley. Meeting up with elite hacker Charlie Bradbury and figuring out Dick’s master plan to domesticate and slaughter the human race like cattle. The strange appearance of a young Vietnamese boy who could, sort of, read an ancient tablet they’d stolen from Dick Roman, and more dick angels that had to be convinced, somewhat violently by Meg, that they could take care of the new prophet themselves.

“So that’s where we’re at,” Sam said to Bobby over the phone. “We’re heading your way with Kevin so he can work on the translation in peace. We should be there some time tomorrow morning. Any news on your end?”

“Yeah, keep away from processed foods. Sucrocorp is getting into everything lately, and we don’t need you two turning into cows.”

“Great. Dean will love that,” Sam said with a laugh. “Hey, no word from Cas?” Sam asked, his voice more serious.

“’Fraid not. Like I said. I’d call you as soon as I heard anything.”

“I know. We’re just worried,” Sam said. He hung up and got Dean up to speed. His brother was not happy about the fresh food requirement.

“Bobby hasn’t heard anything from Cas either,” Sam said, letting those words hang there, hoping Dean would take the bait. He didn’t.

“It’s not your fault he ran off,” Sam said, like he said many times a week, and Dean snorted derisively. “OK. It’s totally your fault, but, you didn’t know that would happen.”

Dean’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, and saw that Kevin was fast asleep in the back seat, curled up on Sam’s duffel bag, with the tablet snuggled up against his chest. Meg was gone too, who knew where. Likely double crossing them or something. 

“He could be dead in a ditch somewhere,” Dean murmured, his brow creased with worry.

“I thought Cas was the great white wizard hell bent on overtaking the world?” Sam teased.

“Shut up. I wish he’s at least taken his phone with him. I could have left him a message,” Dean said. His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel of the car as he replayed his last conversation with Castiel, and all the ways it could have ended differently. Right up to that moment when Castiel had paused at the door. Dean had noticed him pause. He could have said anything at that moment, and Castiel would probably be in the back seat with Kevin, his head bobbing against his chest in uneasy sleep.

“And just what sort of messages would you leave on his phone, Dean?” Sam quirked a brow at his brother, curious. Dean barely bothered with a glance and didn’t reply. “He’ll show up. I’m sure of it. There aren’t too many places he could be.”

“Sure. Leviathans could have eaten him. Angels could have dragged him back to heaven. Meg might be hiding him somewhere. Maybe Crowley killed him. Not too many places we have to worry about.”

“We’d know if any of those things happened. Monsters like to brag,” Sam said, trying to be reassuring in the face of Dean’s worst scenarios. “Besides, Cas isn’t that stupid. I know you think he is, but he knows how to stay hidden. He learned a lot from us in the last few months. More than you think. He’ll probably come back with a sawed off shot gun and mountain man beard,” Sam said, trying to get a laugh out of Dean. It didn’t work.

“And what do I say to him when he shows up?”

“First, apologize for being a huge dick bag to him,” Sam said, not even flinching when Dean punched him in the arm. “And then you forgive him. Completely. I don’t even care if you’re lying. You just forgive him, and convince him of it, and then put this whole stupid thing behind you. And no more punishment either. Try something normal and healthy for a change.”

“And the Team Cas pep squad strikes again.”

“Guy wrote a spell, just for me, to fix my brain. I haven’t seen Satan in weeks, and my nightmares are gone. Go team Cas, rah rah rah,” Sam said, the last part as dead pan as he could make it, but he was still serious. Castiel’s plan had worked. Without Lucifer running amok in his brain, and with the meditation helping him center his emotions, Sam was more willing and open to forgiving Castiel. He was actually incredibly grateful and wished Castiel was around for a big hug and thank you.

The effects seemed to be contagious, too. Dean could see the result of Castiel’s clandestine magical study, and had Sam as a constant verbal reminder. Barely a day went by without Sam saying, unsubtly, something about how great he felt after using Castiel’s spell. Given enough time, it could even wear down a stubborn man like Dean.

“If he’s not dead,” Dean murmured, and let the words hang there, unable to finish the sentence. They drove through the night, hoping to get to Bobby’s as soon as possible.

~

Castiel chose to leave the Winchesters’ side after Dean told him to leave. He was quite certain he’d have been allowed to stay, sleeping in Sam’s room. But the thought of being near Dean, ignored, unforgiven, and untouched, was what really made Castiel run away. And he realized, with shame, that it was running away. He didn’t have the strength to stand on his own while Dean was so angry with him. He couldn’t stand for things to be the way they had been before, and so he ran, unwilling to face the fall out of his fight with Dean.

The very first day was probably the worst. He left the motel on foot and walked down town. After he accomplished that, he had no idea what to do. He knew he needed to get out of the town, or else Dean and Sam would easily find him. But, he was too afraid to hitchhike, and wasn’t sure if he should spend his money on a bus ticket, when he didn’t know how long his funds would last. So he walked straight out of town, and down the highway. He walked for several hours, resting when his feet ached, and his shoulders grew sore from his bag. As the sun was setting, exhaustion took him over, and when he saw a motel, he got a room, collapsed into the bed, and fell asleep for 12 hours.

When he woke up the next morning, he didn’t get out of bed. Instead he lay there, determined not to move until he had some sort of plan. He remained in bed for two more hours until he finally had some idea of what he could do. Or really, the only thing he could do.

When Castiel had showed up at Rufus’ old cabin in the woods, Bobby had not been surprised to see him. Naturally, Sam or Dean had called, looking for Castiel, because where else would he go? Knowing that this would be the first place they looked, Castiel went anyway, because they were right. He had nowhere else to go. But more to the point, he had nowhere else he wanted to go. His core still pulsed with the need to help. To clean up the mess. And if he could not do that next to Dean and Sam, he would do it around the corner from them, with Bobby.

“Can I stay?” had been Castiel’s first words to Bobby, quickly followed by; “Don’t tell them I’m here.” And Bobby had consented, saying he had ‘a soft spot for wounded animals.’ Castiel suspected he’d been filled in on some of the details about what had happened, but the man gratefully never asked any questions, and never prodded for information.

The first few days were shaky and awkward as the two men danced around each other, uncomfortable in each other’s space. Castiel listened with his heart in his throat each time Bobby answered the phone and told the boys that he still hadn’t heard anything from or about Castiel, good or bad.

But after a few days of that, Bobby would suddenly say gruffly, “C’mere,” and beckon Castiel over to show him how to do something. Sometimes it was something mundane, like how to run a trace on the computer, and he showed him where Dean and Sam where by the GPS in their phones. Sometimes it was something fun, like how to make cornbread, Bobby’s only specialty. And after a week, it was something exceptionally useful, how to shoot. Dean had grown quickly frustrated with Castiel’s ineptitude with guns, and given up after only a few attempts. Bobby was a much more patient teacher. After two weeks, Castiel knew his way around a shotgun and handgun, though he still needed a great deal of practice on his aim. But he was no longer quite so nervous with the dangerous weapon that felt so foreign in his hands.

Though there was research to do, Leviathans and Dick Roman to track, information to find, and wards needed to keep them safe, Castiel felt at peace in the small cabin with Bobby. His mind still raced, troubled with thoughts he couldn’t quite chase away, but he was left alone in his head, and left to work out his own problems without the Winchesters being a constant reminder of his guilt.

“That was Sam and Dean on the phone,” Bobby said, hanging up the phone after talking to Sam. “They’ll be here tomorrow morning with some prophet.” 

“That would explain those thunder storms we tracked a few nights ago. The Word of God must have been unearthed,” Castiel said. He’d just finished making dinner, a task he found he enjoyed almost as much as Bobby loathed. The man had shown him a few basics around the kitchen, and intrigued by the act of creation, Castiel had quickly surpassed Bobby’s culinary skill. He found it to be similar to the study of magic, which involved the combination of the right ingredients and ideas to make the magic work. With cooking, it just required food. 

“What’re you gonna do when Dean gets here?” Bobby asked, and Castiel found that the most invasive question Bobby had ever asked him in the month they’d been together. He was seeing where Dean had learned some of his emotional habits.

Now Castiel had a choice. He could run away again, check into a motel in town until Sam and Dean left, or, he could face the brothers again and deal with whatever came as a result of that. Sam was always the one who called Bobby and asked about Castiel, but Bobby insisted that was just Dean being a ‘stubborn idjit.’ Bobby swore up and down that both brothers were worried about Castiel’s whereabouts and safety. But that wasn’t really what Castiel was worried about. He never thought Dean wouldn’t care he was gone. He had expected the man to be worried, and deep down, felt some satisfaction about that.

“I think I will go into town tonight. Get a motel room,” Castiel finally said, lowering his eyes so he wouldn’t have to meet Bobby’s disapproving glare. He could still feel it burning against him though. 

“And I guess I ain’t supposed to tell the boys where you’re at?” Bobby asked.

“I would appreciate that,” Castiel said.

“You gotta face them at some point,” Bobby said gruffly. Again, it was an unusual amount of advice from a man that usually left well enough alone. “Or one of them at least,” he added, and Castiel could feel a faint blush on his cheeks.

“I know. But I’m not ready yet,” Castiel said, and he got up to clear his plate. He hadn’t finished eating, but had lost his appetite and became fidgety. He started to clean up and put away the leftovers. 

“You’re an idjit, you know that?” Bobby said, his voice more annoyed than usual.

Castiel turned and looked at Bobby, surprised when that specific insult, and endearment, was directed at him. Bobby hadn’t ever called him that before, and as far as he knew, only ever used that word to describe Sam and Dean. “I’m not an idiot,” was all Castiel could think to say, denying it because it was still an insult, no matter how affectionately Bobby said it.

“I know an idjit when I see one. I’ve had two boys to look after most of my life, and now I’ve got a third.”

“I’m older than the dirt that makes up this planet,” Castiel said pointedly. “I’m hardly what you would consider a ‘boy.’”

“You been human barely a year, so you count as a boy in my book. And you know what boys do? They run away from their problems. But there ain’t much time left. The world’s in trouble again, and we got a tradition. You get your shit sorted out before the end of the world just in case we screw it up this time.”

“I’m sorted,” Castiel said, intently looking at the dishes he was washing, not at Bobby. He could feel the man glaring at his back, sighing with disapproval. The man muttered ‘idjit’ one last time and walked out of the room, leaving Castiel to wash up.

Castiel packed his duffel carefully, checking over the house again and again to make sure he hadn’t left anything of himself behind for the brothers to find. No clothes, none of his magic books, not the second toothbrush in the bathroom. With a final, withering look from Bobby, he left the cabin and walked back into town, since Bobby stubbornly refused to give him a lift. He checked into a motel, and had himself a fitful sleep, plagued with odd and confusing dreams about Dean, and anger, and sex.

~

Sam, Dean, and Kevin arrived at the cabin early in the morning. Kevin, still looking like he was in shock and clearly frightened, was led down to the basement with Sam where he could work on translating the tablet. Dean headed to the kitchen for something to drink. As usual, there were cold beers waiting for him, and he didn’t waste any time tipping one back.

“You know, I wish you’d picked up some of my better habits,” Bobby said as he came into the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you had any,” Dean said with a smirk.

“How you boys doing?”

“Fine. You know, as much as you can be when the world is ending. Again,” Dean poked his head in the fridge once more and pulled out a plastic container. He tore it open and found some roasted chicken. Pleased, he started nibbling on it. “Nice of you to have some real food on hand for once.”

“I do what I can,” Bobby said, shifting on his feet. “Feel bad for that boy Kevin. He’s too young to be in a mess like this.”

“What’s old enough to be in a mess like this?”

“Good point,” Bobby said with a sigh. He grabbed a beer too, sliding aside more containers of food in the fridge.

“Man, I have never seen you with so much food even in your own house. Where did this come from?” Dean asked, licking his fingers as he tossed a cleaned chicken bone into the trash and quickly started working on a drumstick.

“Restaurant in town. Figured I’d stock up with you boys coming in.”

“I thought all the restaurants around here had Sucrocorp crap in them?” Dean asked, warily eying the chicken in his hand.

“Right,” Bobby hedged. “Well, I checked, just to make sure. It’s all clean. No cow inducing drugs in that food.”

Dean looked at Bobby suspiciously, and then examined the chicken in front of him. “This don’t look like restaurant food.”

“Course it is. You think I could make something like that?”

“No,” Dean said, distracted. He was looking around the kitchen, suspicion sharpening his senses. Nothing was out of place, nothing unordinary. Just one thing. Or two really. Two plates on the drying rack, two sets of silverware, two cups. “Who else is here?” Dean asked, whirling back to Bobby.

“No one, you idjit. You think I could hide someone in this little cabin?”

“Then who made the food? Who was eating with you last night? Why are you being so secretive-” Suddenly, Dean froze, and he looked down at the chicken, and the neatly stacked and washed plates. “Cas is here,” he murmured, and then he looked up, his brows furrowed in anger. “He’s been here the whole time, hasn’t he? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“You know damn well why,” Bobby snapped back. “That boy’s scared and hurtin’ ‘cause of you. I’m not going to tell the person who caused that where he is until he says it’s OK.”

“I just want to tell him I’m sorry.”

“That’s it? Just you’re sorry? You’re gonna have to do better than that. I’m not going to pass judgment on your choices,” Bobby said, stressing the last word meaningfully. “But once you make that choice with another person, I am going to take issue with how you treat them, and yelling at them right after they save your brother’s life? Isn’t the way you show your gratitude.”

“You want me to beg and grovel for his forgiveness? Fine.”

“That’s a good start. What else you got?”

“What else? I don’t know. Bring him back on the road with us. Teach him to hunt. To shoot… What? What else is there?” Dean asked, as Bobby looked at him expectantly.

“Isn’t there something you want to tell him? Something important?”

Dean stared at Bobby, complete incomprehension on his face for several moments, until it hit him, and then his face tightened up into an unreadable mask.

“All right. Enough girl talk. Are you going to tell me where he is, or not?”

“Against my better judgment, yes. But one last warning. I’ve got three boys now, and I’m not playing favorites, unless one of them proves himself to be the biggest idjit of the lot, and then he’s gonna wish his daddy was still here to take my place for the ass kickin’ he’s gonna get.”

~

Castiel was sitting quietly on his bed in the motel, studying his spells. Though Bobby had made no complaint about his forays into Wicca, the cabin was small enough that the man moving around and fiddling was often too distracting for Castiel to concentrate. This was the first opportunity he’d had in several days for a little peace and quiet.

So when there was a loud knock on the door, which clearly had the ‘do not disturb’ sign posted outside, Castiel was annoyed, but determined to ignore it. However, the knock came again, louder, and more insistent, and then followed by a voice.

“Cas! Open up. We need to talk,” Dean yelled through the door.

Castiel’s heart jumped up into his throat, pounding hard in his ears as shock and panic overwhelmed him, as well as a sudden combination of annoyance and fury at Bobby for telling Dean where he was. 

“I will wait out here all day until you answer this door,” Dean said, knocking some more, and adding a kick for good measure. “Cas!”

Dean sounded desperate and anxious, and Castiel was starting to feel the same way, mostly because stupid motels never had a second door, just the window at the front, right next to where Dean was standing. A quick look in the bathroom showed that even the window there was too small for him to crawl through. Castiel stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do while Dean continued knocking. After a few minutes, the man stopped, and Castiel let out a sigh of relief. That is until he heard a quiet clicking sound, and saw the door knob working slowly back and forth as Dean picked the lock.

~

Motel locks were easy, and Dean had the door open in under a minute. He pushed it open slowly, glad that there wasn’t a chain on the door, and poked his head inside. Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

Dean poked around the room. He saw Castiel’s notebooks on the bed. He glanced through them, shaking his head at the terminology of Wicca. Definitely too touchy feely to do any kind of damage. He mentally kicked himself again for getting so angry about it.

Dean glanced around the room some more, and wondered where Castiel went, and when he would be back. He closed the door to the room, and pulled out a chair to sit. If Castiel wasn’t there, then he’d wait for him. All his stuff was in the room, so he was certain to return at some point, and get quite the surprise when he found Dean there.

Dean sat for about fifteen minutes, fiddling with his phone, and occasionally glancing out the motel window, when he suddenly heard a tiny creak. His head popped up and he scanned the room, looking for the source. His eyes narrowed, he stood up, stormed over to the closet, and jerked the door open. There, curled up on the floor, was Castiel.

“Seriously dude? You’re hiding in a closet?”

“Shut up. Go away,” Castiel murmured into his knees, because he was much too embarrassed to lift his head.

“Will you just come out of there? I’m not talking to you while you’re in a closet,” Dean said, and stepped back so Castiel could unfold himself and stumble out of the cramped space. Dean was courteous enough to glance away until Castiel was on his feet again.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Dean said.

“I know,” Castiel said, as coldly as he could.

“You could have at least told us you were safe. I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m fine,” Castiel said, his voice still cold, and he refused to say anything else, even when Dean frowned at him.

“I’m sorry I told you to leave,” Dean said after a sigh, to give himself strength. “I didn’t mean that. I just got so mad, I couldn’t think straight, and it was the first thing I said. I always say stupid shit when I’m mad.”

“I always knew you would be angry when you found out. So, it’s OK,” Castiel said, his voice not quite so cold, softening as he heard Dean’s apology, which he knew did not come easily for him.

Dean looked up and smiled a little as Castiel accepted his apology easily enough. 

“Good,” Dean said with an awkward shuffle of his feet, surprised that it was so easy. “Why don’t we head back to the cabin then?”

“No,” Castiel said, taking a step back. “I think I’ll stay here until you and Sam are on the road again.”

“Don’t you want to come with us?” Dean asked, the easy smile from before falling from his lips, a little confusion marring his features.

“Perhaps it is better if I stay and help Bobby.”

“Stay…? Cas, I want you with us. With me. I didn’t mean it when I told you to get out.”

“No. You did. At that moment, you meant it. But that’s not why I’m staying. I don’t think I could bear being with you anymore if you haven’t forgiven me. It takes time. I understand that now. So, I’ll just wait here until you’ve forgiven me.”

“Bobby was right, you have turned into an idjit,” Dean said with a small laugh. Castiel was about to protest this persistent insult, but Dean cut him off. “Why do you think I came out here? Why do you think I was so worried about you this whole time? You think I’d feel that way if I hadn’t forgiven you?”

Castiel kept his head turned away, and his eyes turned down. He didn’t want to see those lies in Dean’s eyes again. 

“C’mon, Cas. Look at me. I forgive you. Come back with us,” Dean said, stepping closer to Castiel, getting into his personal space.

“No,” Castiel said stubbornly, still not looking at Dean.

“No? Cas. C’mon. I want you with me,” Dean said, and reached forward to lift Castiel’s chin, but the former angel was stubborn and shut his eyes, shaking his head in denial.

“Won’t you just-“ Dean started, and then he stopped himself, let out a sigh of frustration, and then leaned in to kiss Castiel on the mouth.

Castiel’s eyes flew open at the surprise contact, and let out a gasp. Opening his mouth for that sharp intake allowed Dean in, and his tongue slid between Castiel’s lips, hot and seeking. Castiel’s gasp turned into a quiet moan, and his eyes slid shut again as his whole body trembled. He moved his tongue against Dean’s, also seeking, and tasting, and filling up with pleasure on the flavor of Dean in his mouth.

The kiss went on for several minutes, until both men were breathless and needed to part. Castiel hadn’t noticed, but Dean had tugged him close, wrapped him in his arms, holding him tight so he couldn’t escape. He felt no desire to do so.

“There, you see?” Dean said, his lips brushing against Castiel’s as he spoke. “I forgive you.”

Castiel could feel his whole body vibrating with happiness as those long desired words were whispered against his lips. He longed to follow Dean out of the motel and sit beside him in the car again, and follow him, just follow him everywhere. But some small part inside him, a part that still had a little sense, resisted, and nagged him, prodded him with doubt, and made him pull back, just a little, so he could look Dean in the eye, and make sure.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor anymore,” Castiel said, with more confidence than he felt.

“You’re not,” Dean said in quick agreement. “You’re sleeping in my bed.”

Castiel thrilled at that, but tamped it down. There was more. “I will kiss you when I like.”

“Yes,” Dean said, emphasizing his agreement with a quick peck to Castiel’s lips. “But not in front of Bobby. He’ll bitch and moan.”

“And… I want to make love with you,” Castiel said, his confidence waning as he asked for more.

“I was just about to demand that myself,” Dean said, his voice going just a little lower, and Castiel could feel it like heat in his groin. But he focused himself again. He had one more question, one last thing to demand, and he wasn’t sure it would be all right. He couldn’t quite believe it would be.

“Don’t whip me anymore,” he said, in a low whisper. 

“I think you’ve been punished enough,” Dean said, tightening his grip on Castiel, tugging him closer so he could lean in against his ear, and say in a husky whisper; “But I think I will still spank your ass cherry red sometimes, because I know you liked that.”

Castiel let out an uncontrollable moan, and his knees went weak, forcing him to lean heavily against Dean’s strength, while he tilted his head up, seeking another kiss, wanting to taste that forgiveness in Dean’s mouth again. He wanted to taste it over and over again, until he was drunk on the flavor.

Dean obliged, and kissed him back, hot and heady, and moved him, slowly, step by step, until they were lying down on the bed, kissing and touching and exploring like they never had before, despite the intimacies they’d already acted on.

Clothes were peeled away slowly, Dean kissing exposed skin, and Castiel following, savoring the taste of Dean, and the freedom to touch him and caress him how he liked, without fear of reprimand or recrimination. And the sensation of Dean touching him and exploring him, without the usual urgency and callousness. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmured into Castiel’s skin, every light touch a further apology for all the harder touches from before. Castiel claimed Dean’s mouth to swallow his apologies and take them into himself.

Heat swelled in Castiel’s body. Every touch and caress was a burn against his skin, a fire where he and Dean were pressed together. For ages, he had wanted, and now he had it, but all he wanted was more of what Dean freely offered.

Castiel pulled away from a heated kiss, making Dean murmur with disappointment, and untangled their limbs, so he could get free, turn over, and stretch out on his stomach. He looked over his shoulder at Dean, at the man watching him, his eyes dazed with lust.

“Not like that,” Dean said after clearing his throat. He tugged on Castiel’s arm and urged him to roll over, onto his back again, so that Dean could slide between his thighs.

“I want to make love,” Castiel said bluntly, confused when Dean denied him, worry seeping into his eyes.

“I know,” Dean said, his teasing smirk on his lips. The one that made Castiel’s heart ache. “But you have to do that face-to-face.”

“Oh!” Castiel said, the sound not so much one of surprise, since he knew that the position was possible. It was a sound of delight that he could look at Dean while they made love, yet another thing they had never done before. Being on his hands and knees or his stomach so often, he’d never even thought Dean would want it any other way.

Dean went back to kissing Castiel, rubbing their bodies together, and Castiel groaned hotly as their cocks were pressed together, tight and hot against each other, and mixing up their pre-come, until they were both a sticky mess.

Above him, Dean groaned with desire, his body trembling with want, and he murmured against Castiel’s lips; “Do you have anything?”

Castiel didn’t understand the question at first, but it became clear when Dean’s dry fingers pried between his cheeks and teased at the tight muscles around his hole. 

“I have some,” Castiel said breathlessly. It was painful to part from Dean, to pull away from him so that he could reach into his duffel bag, rummage around, and then return with a half empty bottle of lubricant.

“This seems well used,” Dean said, unable to hold back his smirk.

“I… I missed you,” Castiel murmured, blushing at what that implied.

“Did you?” Dean asked, talking easily as he poured lube on his fingers, waited for it to warm up, and then slid his hand down between Castiel’s legs. “What did you do when you missed me?”

Castiel shivered as Dean’s finger teased at his hole, and slowly slid inside. “Like this,” Castiel stuttered, squeezing around Dean’s fingers. “I used my fingers inside and thought of you.”

“What did you think about?”

“Your cock… or your mouth on me. Sometimes… sometimes your hand…” Castiel said, trembling at the memory, unable to continue because he was too embarrassed. Dean paused, his finger deep inside.

“My hand doing what?”

“Spanking me,” Castiel said, closing his eyes. Dean chuckled above him, and he felt the man’s lips over his eyes, kissing him gently. His finger crooked, and Castiel shuddered as his prostate was stroked. A second finger slid in beside the first, spreading him wider.

“I can’t believe you’d think of that, after everything I did to you,” Dean said, more apologetic kisses against Castiel’s eyelids and cheeks.

“Did you think of me?” Castiel asked, keeping his eyes closed, savoring every kiss.

“Oh God yes,” Dean said with a deep groan. “Every night.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“This,” Dean said, emphasizing it with a press of his fingers, making Castiel shudder again. He pushed another finger in, making Castiel groan, and he pressed his lips to his mouth, to swallow up those noises, groaning himself at the promise of Castiel’s tight heat wrapped around him.

“I’m ready,” Castiel said in a breathy gasp when he broke from Dean’s kiss.

Dean nodded, more than ready himself. He moved his hands to Castiel’s hips, and moved closer to him, spreading his legs wider, pushing his knees up to get the right angle before Dean pressed between Castiel’s cheeks, and slid into him.

Castiel sought for purchase as Dean filled him up, and his arms went to the man’s neck, wrapped around it, and pulled him close, down on top of him, so their whole bodies were connected. Dean’s lips followed, and they kissed as Dean’s hips rocked back and forth slowly, stirring them both up into heated, desperate noises.

Dean’s thrusts were short and deep, so that the head of his cock pressed insistently against Castiel’s prostate, rubbing it constantly, forcing Castiel’s cock to drool pre-come all over his belly, slick and hot as it was rubbed from above by Dean’s body.

Rubbed raw, filled up, drunk on kisses, Castiel was a puddle of pleasure, clinging to Dean as an anchor, even as the man overwhelmed him with even more. Dean was drowning him in it, until he could barely breathe, letting out tiny mewls and gasps into Dean’s mouth as he sought air.

Still, orgasm came as a surprise, like the feeling itself was hidden under everything else, and it came suddenly upon Castiel, almost blinding him. He clenched his eyes shut as he came. Dean broke their kiss to look at Castiel, watch him come undone, let his cries fall unhindered from his lips. His hips continued to move, thrusting into Castiel, milking out every cry and spasm of pleasure, until he too hit his peak, earning another soft cry from Castiel as he was filled up.

A few more hot, sweaty, breathless kisses were exchanged as the two men shuddered through the end of their orgasms, their bodies twitching, still sliding against each other to ride out the last shocks of pleasure, to settle down, heavy and lazy, with no desire to move. Even when Dean tried to slide off to the side, detach their sticky bodies, Castiel clung to him, wouldn’t let him move. Dean chuckled, and settled.

“We have to get up and shower at some point,” Dean murmured. “And go back to Bobby’s.”

“Mmmhmm,” Castiel said, a noise made to a child voicing a silly request that would never be met, but still made to appease its wants.

“You are coming back to the cabin with me, right?”

“Yeah,” Castiel said lazily, barely opening his eyes to look at Dean reassuringly.

“And you’ll come hunting with me and Sam?”

“If you want me to,” Castiel said, a little demurely. “Bobby taught me how to shoot. I can use a shotgun and a handgun now.”

“Bobby always was a good teacher,” Dean said, remembering his own frustration in trying to teach Castiel how to handle guns. “But I thought you were going to be our magic man? Throw off demons with your mind. Heal our broken bones.”

“I wouldn’t expect quite that much from me, yet. I’m still a novice.”

“You healed Sam.”

“Sam did most of the work himself. I merely showed him how to do it.”

Dean smiled at Castiel’s modesty, and leaned down to kiss him again, a thank you this time. Just a quick press of lips. He ran his hands through Castiel’s hair, stuck up at all angles from their tumble on the bed.

“Don’t run off again, OK?” Dean said suddenly, his hands tightening, just a little in Castiel’s hair, and giving it a tug. “Even if I tell you to, don’t listen to me. I’m stupid and I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I won’t,” Castiel said, amused by Dean’s command, but certain he would do his very best to follow it. 

“Now, come on. We need to shower and go back to the cabin before Sam or Bobby come looking for us. We’ve got leviathans to kill, and I have a feeling, we’re going to need your help with that.”

Castiel nodded his agreement. He was loath to leave the bed with Dean, a warm nest of comfort he’d just found. But there was work to do, a mess he had to finish cleaning, a world that had to be saved. He got his shit sorted, as Bobby had commanded, and Dean had forgiven him, accepted him again, as he was. He could feel it too, that Dean would need him for this fight. So, wherever Dean went, no matter where he ended up, Castiel was sure to follow him.


End file.
